Telling Time
by YellowBoots
Summary: Sequel to Knowing. She just had to tell him, and for the thousandth time that night her heart clenched with regret and guilt that she’d waited too long... JJ.
1. Giggles and Einstein

**Telling Time**

A Sequel to Knowing

**

* * *

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**Giggles and Einstein**

"Whatcha doin'?" Rory Gilmore asked curiously.

The tall woman beside her didn't answer. Rory frowned, and waved a hand in front of her mother's face.

"Hello? Anybody in there? Speak to me, Lorelai…"

Lorelai blinked and refocused when her vision was suddenly obstructed.

"What?" she demanded, slightly defensive and now fully alert. "I can't stand here enjoying the view while waiting for my often-tardy offspring?"

"What view?" Rory scoffed. "You're in the town square. From here you can see the street, a couple of cars, and the diner- ohhh," she realized. She looked at her mother fondly. "Are you staring at Luke?" she asked, greatly amused.

"No," Lorelai answered witheringly. Rory just raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe," Lorelai conceded weakly.

"Do you know how disgustingly sweet and romantic that is?" Rory giggled in delight.

"Oh, my God, I know I'm pathetic, don't rub it in," Lorelai moaned.

"You're not pathetic, you're in _lurve_," Rory teased. "So, how is the view?"

Lorelai studied her daughter carefully, wondering if she could ask without seeming too juvenile or mockable. Rory wouldn't torment her about this, would she? Well, who was she kidding, of course she would, but hopefully at a later date when this pressing dilemma had been solved.

"Can I ask you something?" she said seriously. "And I want your honest opinion, no holds barred."

"Ask away," Rory encouraged, intrigued.

"What do you think? Of Luke?" Lorelai asked awkwardly. "Do you think he's cute?"

Rory burst out laughing, and she looked at her mother like she was crazy.

"That's enough, Giggles, just answer the question," Lorelai warned dryly.

"I'm sorry, Mom, but I just had such a massive sense of déjà vu it wasn't even funny," Rory said, still chuckling. "Well, actually, it was. Funny, I mean. Which is why I'm laughing, and-" she caught sight of Lorelai's face- "why I'm stopping. Right now."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. And you asked me that exact question almost three years ago."

"I know, and you told me under no circumstances was I ever to go out with Luke. I've decided I don't trust your judgment."

"I didn't tell you not to go out with Luke, I told you you couldn't ever break up with Luke. Not the same thing."

"No, it's not," Lorelai grinned happily. "And I'm not planning, in this or any other universe, on breaking up with Luke, so, back to the question, if you please." She paused, momentarily distracted as she glanced across the street and saw Luke again.

"There is a seriously good-looking fella over there," Lorelai began, indicating Luke behind his plate glass windows with a jerk of her head.

"That's not a question."

"I _know_, Einstein, and by the way have I thanked you for how incredibly helpful you've been today, the question _is_, why have I only come to this conclusion recently? Why, all of a sudden, is he all that on a piece of toast, when I've known him and been looking at him for a really, _really_ long time? Is it just because I'm dating him, and as a good girlfriend I'm supposed to think that he's good-looking? That's so shallow, it might even be worse than if he's been this gorgeous all along, and I've never noticed- what, my womanly instincts were so deadened that I couldn't see he's the sexiest man alive?"

Rory just shook her head and sidestepped the question. "Have you told him yet?" she asked, quite sternly.

"That he's the sexiest man alive? Oh, he knows," Lorelai answered devilishly.

"You know what I'm talking about."

"What was the question again?"

"Mom, have you told him yet," Rory repeated.

"That depends on what you mean by 'told him'," Lorelai stalled.

"It's not this complicated, you know."

"Easy for you to say, you've done it twice."

"Yeah, with not so hot results."

"Bringing me down, here, Ror."

"Sorry."

Lorelai shuffled her feet, looking down at the concrete. "Any tips?" she finally muttered ungraciously.

Rory thought for a moment. "Don't plan it out," she said. "Don't make it all about sunsets and candles and violins, 'cause you'll never get that. It never works out the way you plan. Just…do it, the second you feel it, don't let yourself second-guess it."

"So, what, I'm just supposed to go in there, and be all, like, 'Hi, Luke, great to see you, I'll have pancakes, side of bacon, two muffins, by the way _I love you_, oh, and the biggest cup of coffee you have, thanks a lot, bye'?"

Rory shrugged. "Why not?"

"Why not? Cause that's not how you're supposed to do it!" Lorelai wailed.

"How would you know? You've never done it," Rory said reasonably, then instantly regretted it. _Nice one, Gilmore, _she berated herself_. Remind her that she's never trusted a guy enough, not even Dad, to tell him. It might even be that she's never even trusted a guy enough to feel it. _

"I know," Lorelai said, wincing at the reminder but smiling slightly to relieve Rory's guilt. "That's what makes it so hard. So…scary. What if he doesn't-"

"He does," Rory reassured her quickly, unable to stop the wide grin that spread across her face with the certainty she felt. "He does."


	2. I Wanna Hold Your Hand

**I Wanna Hold Your Hand**

Lorelai and Rory crossed the street to the diner and went in, completely ignoring the long line of people that stretched from the front door all the way around the block. The girls unconcernedly brushed past half a dozen customers waiting in the crammed entrance way, looking regally around for an empty table. They didn't find one. However, they did encounter a makeshift sign on a wobbly pole, that read _Please Wait to be Seated._

"What the hell is this?" Lorelai demanded in astonishment. This was a major alteration to her significant other's place of business, and she usually expected to be informed of changes such as this. Especially when changes such as this impeded her ability to eat and drink coffee.

"I'll be with you in a sec," a familiar female voice called from behind the counter.

"Lane?" Rory queried, peering out from behind a rotund man who was eyeing Lorelai and Rory quite threateningly and muttering something about "waiting your turn."

"Hey," Lane greeted them breathlessly. "Two?"

"Actually, my wife and I were here first," the rotund man spoke up disagreeably. "We've been waiting for twenty minutes."

"Yes, you have," Lane realized, shooting an apologetic glance at Lorelai and Rory. "Right this way, sir." Lane's ponytail flipped from side to side as she led Mr. Grumpy to his table, and it didn't have time to swing to a standstill before she'd spun around and made her way back to the front of the diner.

"Sorry girls, but popular opinion says you have to wait in line," Lane announced wearily. "I think this crowd might lynch you otherwise."

"But I'm the girlfriend," Lorelai protested, as winningly as possible. "I'm sleeping with the owner. I get special seating privileges."

"No you don't," Luke called out gruffly as he stalked past with a pot of coffee. Lorelai's face lit up; she hadn't seen him in two days. She tried to squeeze past the crowded table in front of her to go and kiss him hello, but by the time she completed her Houdini act all she could see of Luke was the back of his baseball cap- or the front of his backwards baseball cap- heading into the kitchen.

"Good morning to you, too," she sighed in frustration. She turned to Rory and Lane, arms folded and a scowl on her face. "I _hate_ the _Meriden Weekly News_," she announced grouchily.

"I know you do," Rory said sympathetically, gathering her patience for yet another go-round with the same rant. Her mother had been doing this bit for a week now.

"Stupid weekly newspaper, it's not even good enough to come out every day, no, it sucks so much people can't stand it more than once a week. But does that clue them in? No, of course not. They have to send their damn reporters to New Haven for the "big happenings" going on down there, and then their damn reporters have to have car trouble just as they're passing through Stars Hollow. _Then_, their damn reporters have to have the nerve to stop at Luke's for a damn cup of coffee while Gypsy fixes their damn car."

She paused to take a breath, and Rory and Lane exchanged long-suffering looks. Lane had heard this rant at least a dozen times, too, since she started working at Luke's for the summer.

"Then, the damn reporter, Linda Bluebell- and what kind of a ridiculous name is that? Named after a flower, can you say dippy hippie, anyone? Anyway, the damn reporter has to write an article on how quaint little Stars Hollow is, like nobody's ever been here before, and how darling the rustic little diner is, and how good the damn coffee is! How dare she! That's _my_ town, _my_ diner man, and _my_ coffee! Putting it in her stupid weekly newspaper like she discovered penicillin, the big-headed, big-haired, big-city Lois Lane wannabe!"

She took another breath; privately, Lane admired her stamina.

"And of course, if that wasn't enough, the Hartford papers had to pick up her cute little article. So now, everybody in the state of Connecticut and their mother has to drive out to Stars Hollow every freakin' day to drink my coffee! Plus, Luke's too busy to see me," she added wistfully, almost as an afterthought.

"Wow," Rory commented calmly. "I clocked that at two minutes and three seconds. I think that's a record."

"I need coffee," Lorelai muttered ungraciously. "And I miss Luke."

"Psst, Lorelai," Lane hissed suddenly.

Lorelai looked at her like she'd grown two heads. "Did you just say psst?" she asked insultingly.

"Fine, I won't tell you that a stool just opened up at the counter, and if you hurry I can distract the tourists long enough for you to snag it," Lane sniffed, aggrieved.

"Bless you, my child," Lorelai intoned, planting a kiss on Lane's forehead and flashing a suddenly bright smile at Rory.

"You're abandoning me? What kind of provider are you? I need breakfast, too!" Rory complained, pouting to the best of her ability and trailing Lorelai to the counter.

"Take a donut to go and be thankful you don't live in India," Lorelai instructed unfeelingly as she slid onto the stool, still warm from the previous patron's posterior.

"Gee, thanks," Rory said sarcastically as she helped herself to a donut from the stand and kissed her mother's cheek. "See you tonight, be good, and don't harass Luke any more than you have to- he looks stressed."

"You're telling me," Lorelai agreed wholeheartedly. "It's no fun to torment him when he's stressed, anyway- he snaps much too easily."

"Thank goodness for small mercies," Rory grinned as she headed out the door.

Lorelai settled herself at the counter, feeling a strange rush of anticipation at the thought of seeing Luke. It was strange, because they'd been dating for almost five months, and while he definitely still affected her in multiple ways, she didn't usually get all giddy just from walking in the diner and sitting down. _Maybe that is what my life has now become, _she thought gloomily. _I'm so pathetic I'm getting diner-thrills. _More likely, it was the fact that she was excited to see him, even so briefly and casually as in the diner. This was beyond unfair; Luke's business was now so successful that he'd had to hire four other high school kids, in addition to Lane, just to keep up- even with him working eighteen-hour days. He closed the diner at 10:30, usually having to kick a few stragglers out, went to bed, and got up six hours later to open. He was so exhausted and burned out that Lorelai felt unreasonably guilty in asking him to spend the night, because he'd definitely lose a few hours of the already short supply of sleep he was getting. Of course, that meant that now there was something else he wasn't getting, which Lorelai herself wasn't too crazy about, either. And even if he could manage to take time off, she was finding that she had to work late nights at the Inn, since it was the height of tourist season and they were completely booked. _Damn successful businesses, _she thought ungratefully. _Who wants to make money, anyway?_

Not only were Luke-sightings outside the diner becoming increasingly rare, but she hadn't even had a chance tell him about the major revelation that she'd shared with Rory three weeks ago.

'_I think I'm in love with Luke,' she'd confessed._

'_I think so, too,' Rory had agreed, beaming. 'It's fantastic, and I'm thrilled, but you're telling the wrong person.'_

'_Pardonnez-moi?'_

'_Don't tell me, tell him.' _And she'd immediately launched into the chorus of the Celine Dion/Barbra Streisand song of the same name, which Lorelai had already detested even before Rory took a stab at it.

Secretly, she'd known for a long time, since a week after she'd kissed him out of the blue in the diner. It was her mother, of all people, who had made her realize it, and she half-thought that the reason she'd kept it to herself for so long was because she hated when Emily was right. Plus, there were those other little things of not knowing how serious the relationship was going to get, or how Rory felt about test-drive Luke becoming permanent-Luke, or oh yeah, the absolutely terrifying thought of actually _telling_ him. Three weeks ago it had come out, and Rory was over the moon, which Lorelai was impossibly grateful for- but ever since Rory had taken every opportunity to ask, 'Have you told him yet?'

The answer was still no, and Lorelai blamed Linda-freakin'-Bluebell entirely.

Luke appeared, trudging wearily out of the kitchen, and Lorelai felt her stomach do a little somersault. _I love you, _it seemed to say. If Lorelai couldn't say it, at least her stomach could perform it in acrobatics.

Luke smiled for the first time all day. "Today, you are my favorite person in the entire world," he told her.

"Just today?" Lorelai asked, pretending to be hurt. "How come?"

"Because you haven't asked me for anything."

She smiled innocently, batting her eyelashes. "Luke, can I have some coffee?"

"Funny," he pronounced as he poured a cup for her and slid it across the counter.

"Hey," she said as he turned away again, obviously in a hurry. He put the coffee pot down and came back.

"Good morning," she said softly, leaning across the counter. She kissed him, and after a moment when he started to draw away she grabbed his shirt and pulled him back, deepening the kiss regardless of the two-foot wide by four-foot high obstacle between them.

She finally let him go and arched an eyebrow slyly. "So, this counter's got to go," she said conversationally.

"I'll get on it right away," he answered immediately, his voice a little ragged.

"Of course, there are other places, out there in the world, where counters don't exist," she continued. "My house, for instance."

"So I've heard," he acknowledged.

"I miss you," she said simply.

"I know. I miss you too- sometimes I think I'd get to see more of you if I paid you."

"Dirty!" she gasped, highly amused and not a little impressed.

"To work in the diner," he elaborated, shooting her an exasperated look and trying not to smile.

"Really? I think I'd prefer the other option," she teased suggestively.

"You and me, both," he muttered forlornly.

"Can't you try and take some time off tonight?" she pleaded, suddenly certain that something drastic would befall her if they spent one more night apart.

"Don't you have to go to dinner?" he reminded her.

"Yes, but my mother stole Sookie last week," she explained- not very thoroughly.

"Excuse me?"

"She stole Sookie from the Inn for a last-minute catering job, and I let her, so she owes me a favor, and I can cash it in by not going to dinner tonight. Please, Luke, let Boffo or Fonzie or whichever juvenile delinquent you've got working here close, or just close early. Please?"

"I can think of absolutely nothing else I would rather do," he began, but her squeals of excitement were cut abruptly short. "But, unbelievably, _I_ have to go to a family dinner tonight in Hartford."

She blinked in astonishment. "Hah, that's funny. That's a good one, Luke! A Friday night dinner in Hartford, but seriously, what time are you coming over?"

"My cousin's daughter's husband's brother just graduated from business school, and little Trump Junior had the bright idea that he wants to open a restaurant. And not just any restaurant, no. He wants to open a diner, and he wants Uncle Luke, or whatever the hell relation I am to him, to give him some advice. Right now my advice to the kid is run, far, far away from the diner business, and take your girlfriend with you," he grumbled.

"I can't believe this," Lorelai marveled. "The one time I can get _out_ of Friday night dinner is the one time you have to _go_ to a Friday night dinner. This makes no sense at all, and I now need to go rail at God."

"Tell her I said hi," Luke finished the bit, giving her a small smile.

"What time will you be done?"

He shrugged. "Nine-thirty, ten, maybe."

"Okay, then, mister. You are coming over as soon as you're released from diner school, and I will hear no statements to the contrary. Rory's spending the night at Lane's- I just decided- so you can have me all to yourself, to do with what you will."

"Really," he arched an eyebrow.

"Really. Now, what time is it? Some of us have work to do, you know, we can't all sit around here gabbing all day long." She grabbed his wrist and twisted around to see his watch. "Crap, eight-thirty, Michel will whine. I'll see you tonight?" She drained the last of the coffee from her cup and slung her purse over her shoulder.

"Definitely," he replied. "Oh, and Lorelai?"

"What?" she asked over her shoulder as she tried to find a path to the door.

"Buy a watch."

"No way," she said, flashing him a smile. "I like holding your hand."

* * *

**Just so you know:** my scant knowledge of Connecticut geography comes entirely from Yahoo! maps. My apologies to anyone actually from Meriden, all six of you. Also my apologies to anyone named Linda Bluebell, for multiple reasons. Updates coming soon! 


	3. One More For My Baby

One More For My Baby

Eight hours later Lorelai barged back into the diner, again ignoring the crowds and pushing past Taylor to the counter.

"Lorelai, I don't know if Luke's told you, but you have to wait for a table in here now," Taylor informed her irritably, giving the out-of-towners a hard look.

"Well, it's a good thing I don't want a table, then, isn't it?" she answered back brightly, her eyes scanning the diner but not finding the thing she was looking for. Eight hours was a long time to go without…coffee. That's what she told herself, anyway, despite the fact that she'd had seven cups at work. Eight hours was actually a long time to go without seeing Luke, but that was the mindset of a desperate crazy stalker lady, and while she might _be_ a desperate crazy stalker lady when it came to Luke, she wasn't about to admit it.

He came hurrying down the stairs from his apartment, still fastening the buttons on his black shirt and yelling instructions to Cesar. "Be sure to peel enough potatoes for the dinner rush, put that pie I made earlier in the oven in twenty minutes, and if Lorelai comes in don't let her have more than two cups of coffee, or she'll drive me nuts all night."

His head snapped up when he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Lorelai sitting at the counter.

"Hey, hot stuff," she greeted him wryly. "If I ever catch you limiting my caffeine intake again I'm leaving you, I don't care how good you are in bed."

"Lorelai!" he hissed, horrified, glancing around in the hopes that no one else had heard her. They had, and were all quite obviously eavesdropping to hear the rest of the conversation.

Lorelai just grinned, enjoying watching him squirm, and enjoying watching him, period. The reason she came in, that she wasn't admitting, was because she knew Luke was going to dinner and he would be dressed up. She loved dressed-up Luke, almost as much as she loved _un_-dressed—

"Shouldn't you be at dinner?" he growled, shrugging into his black leather jacket and grabbing his keys from a peg on the wall.

"Rory's in the car, I just came in for some coffee and some lovin' for the road," she informed him cheerfully.

Quickly he pulled a to-go cup from under the counter and filled it three-quarters full, despite her protests that she needed a full cup to prepare for an encounter with Emily Gilmore. He wouldn't let her talk him into it; he'd had first-hand experience with Lorelai and a full cup of coffee in a moving vehicle, and her ability to aim the hot liquid straight for the lap of the front seat passenger was legendary.

"There's your coffee," he said, shoving it across the counter and hurrying around the other side to give her a quick kiss.

"There's my lovin'," she giggled, because she knew she had a snowball's chance in Hades in getting him to say it.

"And there's the road, which we should've both been on five minutes ago," he finished, searching his pockets for his cell-phone. After a second he gave up, in too much of a hurry to go back upstairs to look for it. "See you tonight," he called as he practically ran out the door.

Lorelai shook her head fondly. He may have protested loudly and occasionally profanely about going to this dinner, but she knew he was secretly gratified that someone wanted his advice about following in his footsteps. And it was family, after all; maybe not close family, but family was family, and that meant a lot to Luke. He was like family to her, and she was like family to him, and she meant a lot to him, and he meant a lot to her, and all of a sudden she was off the stool like a shot, darting through the diner so she could catch him before he drove away and _tell him_.

He'd opened the driver's door of his truck before she caught up to him, and would have climbed in if she hadn't called his name.

"What's wrong?" he asked, vaguely alarmed but mostly annoyed that she was holding him up.

"Nothing, just-" she broke off, overwhelmed with the enormity of what she wanted to say. He was standing there, looking at her impatiently, and her courage disappeared. Instead she just flung herself at him, knocking them both back against the truck, clutching him around the neck and kissing him like her life depended on it. His hands went to her waist to steady her, but quickly snaked around her back as he returned the kiss passionately. Moments later she pushed him gently away, and he stared at her, astounded.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, slightly breathless.

"A preview," she answered coyly, instinctively shying away from more serious thoughts and feelings and words. She backed away, fully intending to leave him speechless, which generally wasn't hard to do.

He shook his head, a satisfied smile doing its best to establish itself across his face. "A preview," he muttered as he climbed into the truck and shut the door. "You're crazy," he said through the open window, but his voice was full of laughter.

"I know, but someday I'll write a book about it and be rich and famous," she said nonchalantly.

"Bye, Lorelai," he grinned as he started the engine.

"Bye, Luke," she returned. "Bye, George!"

He gave her a quizzical look. "Who the hell is George?"

"Your truck," she answered, as if the green Chevy had a big "My Name Is" sticker on its front fender and Luke was hurting its feelings by not noticing.

"You named my truck?" he asked resignedly.

"Of course, I name everything. The toaster, the chuppah goat, your tool box-" she broke off mischievously, and leaned in closer to add in a seductive voice, "You're lucky I haven't named your-"

"_Goodbye_, Lorelai," he interrupted pointedly, rolling his eyes and marveling at the fact that yet again he'd allowed himself to get sucked in to another bantering match.

"Bye, Luke!" she yelled as he pulled away, her eyes laughing but her mind specifically ignoring the fact that once again she hadn't told him. But it wasn't a big deal; she could tell him tonight. In fact, that was a much better idea. She'd tell him tonight, and she'd light candles and play soft music, never mind what Rory had said about no violins and sunsets. She'd tell him tonight, and it would be perfect.


	4. Shaken and Stirred

**Shaken _And _Stirred**

"Constantina!" Emily Gilmore's cultured but harsh voice echoed in the foyer of her grand house. A few feet away in the dining room, the little maid from Turkey froze like a frightened rabbit.

"I told you an hour ago I wanted these flowers moved into the dining room," Emily continued, oblivious to the maid's terror and not even noticing that she was shaking in her plain regulation black shoes as she hurried to do Emily's bidding. The maid swept up the gargantuan floral arrangement that Emily wanted positioned just-so and fled, so terrified she didn't even hear the knock on the front door as she passed.

Emily rolled her eyes as much as was permissible for a society lady and called sarcastically, "Don't worry, Constantina, I'll get that."

Pointedly she threw open the door and greeted Lorelai and Rory, who stood reluctantly on the other side. "Hello, girls, come in, come in," she instructed briskly.

"Hey, Mom," Lorelai answered noncommittally, giving Emily a strange look. Her mother had narrowed her eyes and was peering over Lorelai's shoulder into the gathering dark, and Lorelai, against her better judgment, turned around to see…nothing.

"Is…Luke…not with you?" Emily asked. Lorelai told herself she was imagining the disdain that seemed to surround his name in her mother's voice.

"No," she answered, puzzled. Then a thought occurred to her, and she asked warily, "Why, should he be?"

"Well, I didn't _invite_ him, and I certainly wasn't _expecting_ him, but he is your _boyfriend_ now, so it wouldn't be unheard of for him to show up at a family dinner," Emily replied smugly, letting a touch of sarcasm add weight to her words.

"Mom, the next time I can twist Luke's arm to get him to come to Friday Night Dinner, you'll be the first to know, trust me," Lorelai replied evenly, giving her coat and purse to Constantina, who had gathered her courage and returned to duty.

Rory looked from her mother to her grandmother uncomfortably. She loved them both, and she absolutely hated getting caught in these kinds of crossfires. She wasn't sure if it was helpful to know that if it came down to it, there would be no question of whose side she would be on. Dryly she thought that if a career as a foreign correspondent didn't pan out, she could always become a diplomat; any country in the world would hire her once they saw what she'd been through for training.

"Is Grandpa in the living room?" she asked brightly.

"I suppose so," Emily answered, a bit thrown off but doing her best to cover it.

"Let's go see, shall we?" Rory asked doggedly, maneuvering herself so she was in between the other two women. She could tell from Lorelai's face that she was doing everything in her power to stay calm and not let Emily have it at full volume for making digs at Luke, and she smiled proudly at her. Not too long ago a comment like Emily's would have been cause for a grand exit; as Alexander Woollcott would say, "Her huff arrived, and she departed in it." Now all Lorelai did was make a horrible face at Emily's back and think of a dozen very satisfactory responses to be used at a later date. Baby steps.

"Ah, there you are," Richard greeted them as they entered the living room and sat down on the expensively uncomfortable furniture. He handed Lorelai a martini, which she accepted gratefully, and poured a club soda for Rory.

"Your father's growing a mustache," Emily announced abruptly.

"So I see," Lorelai agreed. "Any particular reason, or do you just like looking dastardly?"

"Looking what?" Richard asked in confusion.

"Dastardly. You know, in all those old old movies where there's a clueless blonde chick tied to the train track by the villain who's always twirling a long mustache? He's dastardly."

"I see. And no, looking dastardly was not my aim. I simply wish to see how it looks."

"I think it looks terrible," Emily grumbled under her breath.

"I know," Richard said unconcernedly.

"As long as you don't try to grow a beard," she replied, shuddering. "_That_ would be barbaric."

Lorelai's mouth tightened over the insult she wanted to hurl back, but she managed to settle for clenching her fingers around the stem of her glass until her knuckles turned white. Rory unobtrusively squeezed her arm encouragingly.

"Lots of very civilized men have beards, Grandma," Rory countered politely.

Emily gave her a skeptical look. "I don't know any," she sniffed with finality.

Lorelai cleared her throat loudly, a clear warning that if the subject wasn't changed immediately, unfortunate consequences would ensue. Only Rory seemed to notice the danger signal, but luckily the Gilmores had moved on.

"So how is the Inn, Lorelai?" Richard asked, not from any apparent interest; it was more of a dutiful, polite conversational gesture.

"Fine. Busy," Lorelai answered succinctly.

Rory rolled her eyes to herself. They were all so damn stubborn, perversely making encounters like these as difficult as possible. She'd thought there'd been a breakthrough over the last few months- really, since the fateful Friday dinner at Luke's- but apparently it was one step forward, two steps back for this bunch. She intervened, as she always did; the perfect, peace-maker go-between who diffused almost any situation with charm and a smile. It was definitely not her favorite role.

"It's been so busy because you've been booked solid for the last three weeks," Rory chided her mother gently for failing to toot her own horn. "I don't think I've ever seen the Inn this popular; there was one couple last week who found it on the internet and came all the way from California! And everyone who signs the guestbook raves about what a wonderful time they had."

Lorelai winced at the mention of the guestbook; that had been Sookie's idea. Sookie had her heart set on it, so Lorelai caved, even though the idea positively reeked of cheesy bed-and-breakfasts.

"Sounds like you've got your hands full," Emily commented.

"I can handle it," Lorelai answered quickly and a trifle defensively.

A loaded silence fell, and Emily quickly scanned the list of conversation topics neatly filed in her mind. Polite greetings: check. New developments in Richard's appearance: check. Career: check. Next on the list: boyfriend.

"And how is Luke?" the question sounded sincere, even to Lorelai's ears.

"He's fine, thank you," she replied, relaxing a fraction but still guarded. Silence fell again.

"Luke's even busier than Mom," Rory added, desperately. This was work, hard work; it had been awhile since they'd had a dinner as uncomfortable and awkward as this, and naively she'd thought they were past them. Wrong.

"He's been in the newspaper, did you see it?" Rory continued, praying her words would fill the air and hold it up, since it seemed to be unbearably heavy with tension. "He's famous, in Meriden at least…so he's been working at the diner pretty much twenty-four hours a day."

"Is that where he is tonight?" Emily asked curiously.

_None of your business_, Lorelai thought tersely.

"He's at a family dinner," Rory said. One glance at Lorelai by her side and she knew she'd revealed too much. Lorelai was strict about keeping anything to do with Luke completely separate from her parents; it was almost like she didn't want to taint her relationship by associating it with them.

"I thought you said his family was dead," Emily pointed out, aggrieved, as if Lorelai had lied to her.

"His parents are," Lorelai finally spoke, and her voice couldn't have been more strained. "But he has a sister, and a nephew."

"Jess," Emily clarified.

"Yes."

"So he's having dinner with his sister and Jess?"

"No, a cousin, or something. He wants to open a diner and he asked Luke for advice," Lorelai explained, as briefly as possible, in a tone that heavily discouraged further discussion.

"My, my, what an _ambitious_ family," Emily sniffed superciliously.

Rory barely managed to grab Lorelai's drink out of her hand before her mother slammed her palms down on the finely upholstered sofa and shot to her feet. She gritted her teeth and glared at Emily, who looked slightly taken aback at Lorelai's passionate reaction. She met her daughter's eyes and raised one eyebrow, a silent comment on Lorelai's reckless behavior, and a superior acknowledgment that Lorelai was helpless and frustrated. Quickly regaining the upper hand, she merely watched Lorelai expectantly, waiting for her to live down to her expectations. Rather than give Emily the satisfaction, Lorelai stalked over to the drinks cart as if that had been her intention all along, and with shaking hands poured herself a glass of water, just to have something to do. She ignored the conversation that slowly started up again behind her, concentrating on calming down and releasing the tautness in her shoulders.

"That's very generous of Luke, to teach his cousin _everything_ he knows about the diner business," Emily was saying, an unknown tinge in her voice that could be remorse if someone listened very, very hard. Lorelai held her breath, looking for an olive branch, her hand holding the lid of the ice-bucket frozen in mid-air.

"Of course, it probably won't take him more than an hour or two," Emily continued matter-of-factly. Her words weren't even meant to be vengeful, but they were the killing blow to her daughter.

Emily looked up in alarm as the metal lid Lorelai held clattered to the floor. "What on earth-?" she started, but she had breached Lorelai's last bastion and all hell was about to break loose.

"That's enough," Lorelai said, her voice low and deadly, angry tears glittering like ice in her eyes. Her mother had hurt her before, badly, many times, but somehow this was different. This cut too deep; it sullied something unbelievably beautiful and precious to her, and this, more than anything else, was worth defending.

"That's enough," she repeated again, in a tone that would not permit argument or debate. "You will not insult Luke in my presence. You will not mock him and our relationship. You will not attack him, when he isn't even here to defend himself-"

"He doesn't need to be," Emily shot back defensively. "It appears that you're more than willing to do it for him."

"Damn right I am," Lorelai retorted fiercely, her voice growing louder. "And you want to know why, Mom? Why I hate it when you use your carefully hidden words to insinuate that he's nothing but poor, blue-collar working-man trash? Why it hurts so much when you act as if he's not good enough for any woman, let alone your precious blue-blooded daughter? You want to know why?"

Rory's eyes widened; suddenly she knew where this was going, and she was powerless to stop it, even though she was positive that Lorelai was about to make a huge mistake that she would regret for a long time to come.

"Go ahead, Lorelai, tell me why you rush to defend him," Emily baited.

"Because I love him!" Lorelai finally exploded, with all the pent-up emotion that had been stewing for weeks. She clapped her hand to her mouth a split second later, horrified. She'd let her guard down in front of her mother. She'd exposed her greatest vulnerability; she'd laid her heart, raw and bleeding, on her sleeve for everyone to see, and she couldn't take it back. She couldn't look at anyone; the pain was right there in her eyes and she couldn't hide it or protect herself anymore. She stood frozen, eyes on the carpet, hands clenched in fists at her sides, posture defensive and cringing against another blow.

"Yes, I know," Emily agreed, in a ludicrously calm voice. "I'm glad you finally admit it."

Lorelai's head snapped up in total astonishment, and she stared at her mother like she was an alien from another planet. "I have to go," she said distantly, forcing her feet to move and carry her away from this torture. "I have to go."

Emily sighed loudly in frustration. "Oh, Lorelai, don't be so dramatic!" she exclaimed. She never had understood the powerful effect her words had on her daughter; she didn't think Lorelai cared about her enough to feel her disapproval or disdain. Lorelai didn't turn around.

"Lorelai, wait!" Emily ordered sternly as she caught up to her and blocked her exit. "I wanted to make sure. I had to see what it would take for you to defend him like that-"

Lorelai's eyes flashed dangerously. "I beg your pardon?" she asked icily.

"Lorelai, you know very well that I think Luke Danes is a completely inappropriate choice for you-" she held up her hand to staunch Lorelai's imminent outburst.

"But I am well aware that you don't care what I think, that you'll do whatever you like. So I've come to the realization that if we are to have any sort of normal contact with you at all, we have to at least be able to accept your choices and withhold our judgment, no matter how wrong we think you are."

Richard, still in the living room, was looking a little uncomfortable at suddenly being included in the conversation, but he said nothing.

"And if we are going to have to accept Luke, and make all the necessary adjustments that that entails, I wanted to make damn sure that you were going to stick with this. You're not the most committed person in the world when it comes to relationships, Lorelai, and I am not going to make an effort if this man is just a casual fling that you're going to tire of in a few months when someone better comes along."

Lorelai was silent for a long time, watching her mother as if hoping an interpreter would suddenly appear and translate that speech into Normal Person. "There is no one better," she finally said tightly. "And just for your own information, you have the most twisted mind of anyone I know."

Emily shrugged. "Invite him for dinner next week," was all she said.


	5. The Broken Road

**The Broken Road**

As soon as the great Gilmore front door clicked shut behind them, Lorelai slumped against the portico wall, staring into space with her arms folded close.

"Well," Rory said. "That was eventful."

"Hah."

"I'm still processing, here," Rory continued slowly. "You yelled at Grandma, told her you loved Luke…and then we stayed for dinner _and_ dessert."

Lorelai shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Rory," she confessed wearily. "I'm just…I'm too tired to fight with her anymore. She knows. She can play all the sick little games she wants to, but I'm not going to go crazy second-guessing and double-crossing and anticipating all of it. Because even when I do think I'm ready for her, she just breaks out with something so unexpected and outrageous, and I don't see it coming. I never see it coming…"

"I don't think she's going to make fun of Luke anymore," Rory said hopefully.

"Not behind his back, at least," Lorelai sighed heavily and fished her keys out of her coat pocket. "Here, you're driving."

"It's your car."

"Hey, I've been through emotional hell tonight, kid. You don't want me driving."

"'Kay." They both climbed in and fastened their seatbelts as Rory started the car.

"Tonight was supposed to be special," Lorelai mused as she stared out the rain-streaked windows at the streetlights.

"Why?" Rory asked suspiciously, glancing in the rearview mirror to check for traffic as she backed out of the Gilmores' drive.

"I was going to tell him tonight."

"Mom! What did I tell you about planning?" Rory demanded accusingly.

"There weren't going to be any sunsets and violins," Lorelai protested.

"Yeah, but look what happened, you planned and then you got stomped all over by Grandma."

"That wasn't because of the planning," Lorelai argued. "That was just Emily being Emily."

"It was because you planned," Rory reiterated, starting to smile.

"Oh, you're just a kid, what do you know?" Lorelai teased, some of the earlier shock wearing off.

"A lot more than you, most of the time," Rory sighed melodramatically.

"Ha, ha," Lorelai grumbled, fiddling with the buttons on the radio. She dialed past an evangelical preacher and a bunch of static before music blared out of the speakers.

"_Tell him _

_Tell him that the sun and moon _

_Rise in his eyes _

_Reach out to him_-"

Lorelai's hand shot out like a viper and punched the power button so hard Rory jumped.

"I think you killed it," she commented.

"You set that up!" Lorelai accused. "That is cruel and unusual torture, you sadist!"

"It's on the radio!" Rory defended, giggling.

"You called the only radio station that has any decent kind of reception in this two-block area and requested it! That's why you took so long in the bathroom, isn't it?"

"I swear, I didn't! That kind of detailed plotting has to be carefully thought out, and I didn't know you were planning on telling him tonight! It was just a very strange coincidence."

"Yeah, right," Lorelai narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

Rory rolled her own eyes and pulled her cell-phone out of her pocket. "Here, check the call records. I haven't touched it since we got to Grandma's."

Absently Lorelai scrolled through the phone's menu.

"I was only kidding, sheesh," Rory muttered. "You're actually checking- what, you don't trust your own daughter?"

"I know you too well," Lorelai grinned. "After all, I taught you everything you know."

"Modest of you to say," Rory grumbled, reaching to turn the radio back on. Lorelai reached out and slapped her wrist. "Touch that dial and I sell your books," she warned.

Rory yanked her hand back to the steering wheel. "Mean," she complained. "I need music- I hate driving in the rain."

"Sing."

"You sing."

"About what?"

"What's the first thing that comes to mind?"

"Luke," Lorelai answered immediately, grinning self-consciously.

"Of course, stupid question," Rory acknowledged in amusement.

"Nothing could be finer than, my flannel-covered diner man," Lorelai sang, then winced. "Oh, _man_, that was bad."

"I completely agree, and thank you for ending it right there," Rory said vehemently. She checked over her shoulder as she merged onto the interstate. "I think that definitely should end the singing attempt."

"Yeah, nothing rhymes with Luke anyway," Lorelai agreed cheerfully, feeling anticipatory butterflies rise in her stomach now that they were moving sixty miles an hour closer to home and the person waiting for her there.

"Duke, fluke, rebuke, kook," Rory listed off the top of her head.

"Okay, smarty, so four words rhyme with Luke," Lorelai accepted reluctantly, peering through the windshield at the red brake lights coming closer and closer. "Crap, why are we slowing down?"

"Maybe there's an accident," Rory shrugged. "Puke."

"What?"

"Rhymes with Luke."

"Oh, real cute. Thanks, Ror."

"Anytime."

Lorelai growled in frustration as they inched along in the traffic, jiggling one foot impatiently. "Can't we go any faster?" she demanded.

"Oh, sure, Mom. Let me just activate the hovercraft feature and we'll fly right on out of here," Rory answered sarcastically.

Lorelai muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "smart-ass kids," and turned to stare idly out of the window. For some reason the list of rhyming words had become lodged in her brain, and she repeated them over and over as the car crawled slowly passed the accident site. "Luke, Duke, fluke, rebuke," she mumbled.

"Yeah, 'cause _that's_ not going to get annoying," Rory commented pointedly.

"Luke, duke, fluke, rebuke, Luke, duke, fluke, rebuke…LUKE!" she suddenly screamed, sitting bolt upright.

Rory jumped a mile. "Mom!" she yelled irritably. "Can it, would you? I 'm getting you there as fast as I can, just-"

"Pull over," Lorelai gasped, with what felt like the last breath of air she had.

"What-"

"Pull over, Rory! Now!"

Completely taken aback, Rory maneuvered the jeep over onto the shoulder, glancing concernedly at her mother. "Are you sick?" she asked worriedly, but Lorelai flung the door open before the car even rolled to a stop. She plunged out into the pouring rain, heedless of the umbrella in the backseat, and scrambled along the unpaved surface, her heels sticking in the mud.

"Mom, wait!" Rory called out, frightened, as she jumped out of the car and followed. Some part of her mind registered that she could run faster because she was wearing sensible shoes, and she caught up with Lorelai just as she was about to fling herself across the caution-tape barrier.

"Luke!" she screamed again, and it was the most desolate sound Rory had ever heard. Time seemed to slow down, so that the raindrops plopped one at a time onto her face and into her hair, and it was like a movie slowed down to one long frame after another as she looked around at the police officer who had grabbed her mother and was holding her back from the wrecked car, as she looked at the pile of twisted green metal flipped over so that its underside was bared, as she looked at the white letters that glinted in the glaring red light from the ambulance that would have read Chevrolet if they hadn't been upside-down.

They were carrying the stretcher to the ambulance now, and Lorelai fought hard against the police officer, kicking and pounding his chest with her fist, but he was immovable. "Ma'am, you can't help him now," he said sternly. Rory could have told him his words were going to have the opposite effect he'd intended, because if he thought he could calm her down and convince her to stand docilely by he had another think coming. Lorelai lost all control and kneed him, and with an "oof!" he released her. Rory ran to her and threw her arms around her, tears pouring down her own face. "Hang on," she whispered, choking. "They have to…they have to get him to the hospital. You can't talk to him now." She couldn't talk to him at all, because he was obviously unconscious, but Rory didn't think it was a good idea to mention that.

Suddenly Lorelai stopped fighting and she stood limply in her daughter's arms; if Rory hadn't been there she would have sunk to her knees in the mud. Rain whipped into her face, and blindly she tried to see if he was breathing as the paramedics slid him into the yawning mouth of the ambulance, and then he was gone, hidden behind the double doors and the flashing lights. Almost immediately the vehicle started up and sped away, and she stared after it dumbly. "Where?" she asked in a voice that wasn't hers.

Rory gulped and let her go, feeling panic flood her and an awareness that if she didn't do something her strength would disappear altogether. And she was going to need it; she was going to have to be the strong one, because Lorelai was gone, just a shell of herself left standing motionless in the rain. Rory seized the police officer's arm and he turned to her sympathetically. "What hospital?" she demanded roughly.

"Hartford Memorial," he answered quickly and compassionately.

Without another word Rory returned to her mother and propelled her back to the car, with out-of-place forethought stooping to retrieve Lorelai's shoes that had come off in the mud. Sprinting to the other side of the car, she hurled herself into the driver's seat and started the engine, pressing the pedal so hard to the floor that mud flew up behind them as they tore away. She couldn't see the ambulance anymore; she was glad, because it meant it was getting to the hospital faster than she was. At least the traffic was moving again. There weren't too many cars on the road at nine-thirty at night in the pouring rain, and the ones that were lost interest in the accident as soon as they passed it. _People are so stupid, _Rory thought savagely_. Everyone has to stop and look, some morbid fascination to see what horrible thing has happened, when they should just get the hell out of the way._

She took a deep breath and tried to stop her hands from trembling; the absolute last thing they needed now was for her to crash their own car on the way to the hospital. She stole a quick glance at Lorelai next to her; she still hadn't moved.

"It's going to be okay, Mom," she said in a tight voice. "He's going to be okay."

"I kicked a policeman in the groin," Lorelai said dully. "Do you think I can be arrested for that?"

"I…I don't know. I don't think so. I hope not," Rory replied stupidly.

They passed the rest of the drive in silence.

**

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_You knew something was gonna happen_… So how 'bout some Reviewer-Love to make you feel better?

**Chmelms:** Congrats on being the very first reviewer! You win 100 karma points! Thank you : D

**Asta-gilmore:** Aw, thanks! And you know she's going to say 'it.' It's the whole point of the story : D

**Orangesherbert7:** Oh well, it's the quality, not the quantity, that matters. LL banter is my favorite thing to write- sometimes it goes on and on and I have to stop and say "where the heck is this going!" I have a whole riff on fishing puns which I'll have to work into a future story somehow.

**LorLukealways:** Thanks! The master bows back. Emily is such an awesome and complicated character, and I love divining reasons and motives for her actions. Plus it's fun to write vicious and sarcastic sometimes.

**MizJoely:** Glad you think I did her justice- more Emily to come!

**Rachaellovestoread:** Thank you, I appreciate it. Hope you keep reading!

**Bellybuttonsrcool:** You rock! Updates will be as frequent and regular as possible. Who needs a life when you have fanfic!

**Scottjunkie:** Yay! You're looking for a committed relationship with my story! Fic, do you take Scottjunkie? Scottjunkie, do you take Fic? Also, kudos for writing in German. I haven't a clue what it's about, but I'm impressed.


	6. Calls and Waiting

**Thanks for all the fabulous feedback! **

**Sorry it took awhile to update... I figured my professor might notice if I turned in Chapter 6 instead of my due-date-impending research paper, so I've been writing that instead. It's much less fun, and the comments aren't nearly as cool. :D****

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Calls and Waiting

"Where is he? Is he going to be okay? Can I see him?" Lorelai's words were forceful but her voice was shaky as she stood at the reception desk in the Hartford Memorial Hospital Emergency Room. Rory stood with her arm around her mother for support, looking pleadingly at the two nurses behind the desk. "Is he going to be okay?" Lorelai demanded again, clinging to her last shred of self-control.

"Take a seat, please, ma'am," the older nurse said in a steely voice that matched her iron-colored hair. She barely glanced up from her computer screen.

"I can't take a seat, not until you tell me if he's okay," Lorelai swallowed hard, refusing to burst into tears.

The nurse sighed irritably. "Name?"

"Lorelai Gilmore."

"Name of the _patient_," the nurse corrected condescendingly.

"Luke," Lorelai gulped. "Luke Danes. Or maybe Lucas. Probably Lucas, Lucas Danes."

"Nobody by that name has been admitted."

"What are you talking about?" Lorelai, already very short of patience, couldn't hide her frustration. "They brought him in, just now. It can't have been more than ten minutes, we followed the ambulance, but they don't let civilians have those flashy red lights and siren-thingys, so it took us longer, so he's here, you just have to tell me if he's all right."

"Ma'am, we have no patient by the name of Lucas Danes," the nurse repeated unfeelingly.

"Stop calling me ma'am!" Lorelai lost it. "He- Luke- he- there was a car accident, and I don't know what happened, except I do know he was hurt! He was hurt, badly I think- I don't know- but you do! Just- just go back there and look!"

"You need to calm down-" the nurse began, but Lorelai had a better idea.

"No, you need to get off your lazy ass, go back there and find out if my boyfriend is still alive!" she yelled, her voice breaking on the last word. The waiting room full of people grew suddenly silent.

The nurse pursed her lips in severe disapproval and glared at Lorelai. Deliberately she got to her feet and disappeared through the heavy double doors marked 'Authorized Personnel Only.'

The next few minutes that passed were the longest of Lorelai's life. She stood there clutching the edge of the counter top, her eyes fixed on the magical door where the answer would come from, her mind a complete blank. She couldn't think, couldn't even pray that he would be all right, all she could do was concentrate on the door.

"Hang on," Rory whispered for the second time that night, swallowing around the lump in her own throat. _We can't lose Luke, _she thought wildly_. We can't- because he's Luke. He's Luke and he's always there. He can't be not there. We can't lose Luke…_

The nurse returned, shoving through the doors with more force than was necessary. "Adult male, Caucasian, severe injuries from a car accident," she recited brusquely. "They brought him in twelve minutes ago."

"And?" Lorelai could barely get the word out.

"He's in emergency surgery. He doesn't look good, but they're doing the best they can."

Lorelai pressed her hand to her mouth and took a deep, shuddering breath. "He's still alive?"

"He's still alive," the nurse answered.

"Okay. Okay…thank you…" Dazed, Lorelai turned away with Rory's help, but then she stopped and turned back. "Sorry- about before. About the lazy ass thing. I didn't-"

The nurse held up a hand impatiently. "Don't apologize, it happens all the time."

"Not to me," Lorelai said with difficulty. Rory squeezed her hand and walked her to a chair. Neither of them noticed that Lorelai's muddy stockinged feet left prints across the gleaming white linoleum floor.

* * *

An hour later Lorelai and Rory sat side by side, silent. Lorelai stared into space, barely registering the noise and activity going on around her. The Emergency Room wasn't as busy as it usually was on Friday nights, even with the rain, but there was still a constant flow of people coming and going, shouting and crying, looking tense and worried. Lorelai paid no attention to any of it, the sounds of life and death only a distant hum in her ears. Every few moments Rory would glance worriedly at her mother, but she could think of absolutely nothing to say. 

What could she say at a time like this? _"He's going to be okay?"_ She didn't know that, and she was so terrified because she didn't know. _"Don't worry?"_ How could Lorelai not, when the man she loved was lying unconscious in a hospital bed? _"It's going to be all right?"_ She couldn't say that, because there was a terrible possibility that it wasn't going to be all right. So she just sat, holding Lorelai's hand tightly and trying desperately not to think about what she'd read about hospitals and statistics and casualties and mortality.

The flow of people in and out of the waiting room reached a momentary lull, and Rory was surprised to see the second nurse on duty come around the desk to stand in front of them.

"You look like you need this," she offered, holding out a cup of steaming hot coffee.

Gratefully Lorelai took it, though she could barely swallow the liquid around the terrible lump in her throat. From over her arm the nurse produced a scratchy hospital-issue blanket and handed it to Rory, who suddenly realized she was very wet and cold.

"Thank you," she shivered. The nurse nodded, then knelt and placed a pair of cheap hospital slippers at Lorelai's feet. Lorelai barely noticed; she just stared into her coffee cup unseeingly.

The nurse frowned in concern. "Keep an eye on her," she said to Rory in a low voice.

"I always do," Rory replied quietly.

"Are there any family or friends you should call? To sit with you?"

Rory nodded in relief at the suggestion. Finally, something she could do.

"I'll come and check on you in a little while," the nurse said, smiling gently. She turned to go.

"Anything?" Lorelai spoke for the first time, her voice tight and scared.

The nurse turned back in surprise and compassion. "Not yet," she answered. "He's still in surgery, but he's holding his own."

Lorelai nodded and resumed her intensive contemplation of her coffee. Rory draped the blanket around her mother's shoulders and got to her feet. "I'm going to make a phone call," she said clearly. "I'll be right back."

Lorelai just nodded, but she did wiggle her cold feet into the slippers the nurse had left. Rory sighed unhappily and fished her cell-phone out of her purse. She walked down the corridor, trying to find a quieter place to make her four phone calls. One would be easy. Another would be quick. A third would be awkward, and the fourth...

"Sookie?" she asked when someone answered the phone.

"Rory, sweetie, is that you?" Sookie could tell immediately something was wrong. "Where are you, kitten?"

"We're in the emergency room," Rory answered, with difficulty. Suddenly she had an overwhelming urge to break down and cry. "It's Luke," she continued, trying to get all the information out before she lost it. "There was an accident. We're in Hartford, and Mom's…"

"I'll be there in two seconds," Sookie said quickly, her voice full of concern. Rory almost smiled at Sookie's estimated arrival time. "Sit tight, punkin, I'll be right there."

"Thanks," Rory sniffed.

"Wait!" Sookie shouted just before she hung up. "What hospital?"

"Hartford Memorial."

"Got it. Tell your Mom to hang on."

Rory was positive that Sookie would spread the word around Stars Hollow, even if she didn't mean to do it. But that was good; everyone needed to know what had happened. Rory had the strange but unshakable feeling that the more people who knew Luke was hurt, the less likely he would be to die. It was as if it wasn't possible to upset so many people all at once.

She called the Gilmores next. Emily answered the phone. "Who is this?" she demanded disapprovingly. "And do you know that it's nearly eleven o'clock at night?"

"Grandma, it's me," Rory rushed out.

"What's wrong?"

"What?" Emily's to-the-point sentences were making Rory's head spin.

"I can tell something's wrong, Rory. Tell me what it is." Emily's instructions brooked no nonsense.

"Um- I- there's…there's been an accident," Rory gulped.

"Where are you?" was Emily's next rapid-fire question.

"Hartford Memorial," Rory replied.

"Is your mother there?"

"Uh-huh. She's…" Rory glanced back down the long corridor, but Lorelai was hidden around the corner. "She's not doing so good."

"So well," Emily automatically corrected. "We'll be there in five minutes." And she hung up.

Rory frowned, sure that there was a piece of information she'd neglected to give Emily, but she had no idea what it was. Shaking her head to clear it and taking a deep breath, she dialed another number, this one in New York, that Jess had given her a year ago when he went back to his mother's after the ice-cream-car fiasco.

"What's up, my friends?" the laid-back female voice on the machine inquired. "I'm out right now- out to lunch, out of my mind, out of pot- just _out_, man. Oh, I'm probably doing the circuit thing with my Ren Faire buddies, don't know when I'll be back. Try your luck and leave me a message- maybe I'll get back to ya." _Beep_.

Rory left a message, just in case, but she didn't think Liz would get it.

She thought hard for a moment.

Then she called California.


	7. Life Support

**I'm back! With _two_ chapters to thank you for your patience and inspiring reviews :D**

**A couple of FYIs- _Telling Time_ is set 5 months after _Knowing_, which is set towards the end of season 3. I deny the existence of Nicole (in this story, anyway.) And most of what happens in LL's relationship remains the same- it just happens earlier.**

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Life Support**

Lorelai felt the absence of Rory acutely. The warm presence blocking the draft from her cold, wet body was missing, and so was her only reason for holding herself together. She had to be strong for Rory. It was a deal they had; they were always strong for each other when they couldn't be strong for themselves. But Rory had left her, and she was so afraid. Absently her fingers worried the hem of the thin blanket around her, and she bit her lip and closed her eyes, feeling dizzy. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up, mildly surprised to see the friendly nurse at her side again.

"They just gave me Mr. Danes's personal effects," she said. "I thought you might like to have them." She spoke calmly, gently, and her voice was as soothing as if she were talking to a frightened child. Lorelai looked at her and wondered why she was treating an adult so strangely, and then suddenly she saw herself through the nurse's eyes. She was sitting huddled in an uncomfortable hospital waiting chair, clutching a blanket like her life depended on it. She hadn't spoken more than a few syllables since her panicked outburst when they first arrived; she felt helpless and hopeless and she knew she looked that way, too. No one would recognize her if they saw her now. No one would recognize Lorelai, who was always in control and took command, who always knew what to do in a crisis, who always reassured everyone else. _Get a grip, Gilmore, _she told herself with self-disgust_. You've got to get a grip. You haven't lost him yet. Quit acting like a swooning idiot._

"Thanks," she said hoarsely, then cleared her throat. "Thank you. And I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me- I know you're busy. I'm okay," she said again, almost meaning it this time.

The nurse nodded, relieved to see the distraught woman had recovered somewhat. She handed an open manila envelope to Lorelai and went back to her desk.

Lorelai considered the envelope for a moment, then with a swift, decisive movement emptied it into her lap. Luke's keys jingled as they slid out, and clinked when they made contact with his watch. A black leather wallet was the last thing in the envelope, and Lorelai froze when she saw it. She knew what she was going to find in there, and she already knew she had to look for it. It was going to upset her very shaky façade of calm and self-control, but there was no help for it. Slowly she opened up the wallet to the few plastic sleeves that held photographs. An old one of a woman, and a man who looked like Luke. His parents. One of a boy, who she instantly recognized by his scowl as a young Luke, and a younger girl. His sister. One of Jess, who obviously didn't know the picture was being taken; he would never pose for a photo. One of herself and Rory in their Halloween costumes from two years ago- she'd given them out in Christmas cards.

And one of herself alone, laughing. Tucked into the pocket along with the photo was a tiny scrap of newspaper. She already knew what it said, but she took it out anyway. It was a horoscope prediction from a 1995 newspaper. Under Scorpio scribbled writing that she recognized as her own read "Today you will meet an annoying woman. Give her coffee and she will go away." She'd given it to him the first time they'd met, and jokingly told him to keep it in his wallet so it would bring him luck. On their first official date he'd shyly shown it to her, and she had been touched beyond measure that he'd kept it for so long. She was _it_ for Luke. That was a hard reality to come to terms with, that she was the woman he was pinning all his hopes and dreams and future on. She'd been so afraid she was going to blow it, and break his heart, until she'd figured out that he was _it_ for her, too. She just had to tell him, and for the thousandth time that night her heart clenched with regret and guilt that she'd waited too long. She would never, ever forgive herself if she lost the opportunity to tell him, and the chance at that opportunity was out of her hands now. She stared at the horoscope for a last second, then carefully replaced it, feeling tears prick at her eyes.

"Lorelai!" an out-of-breath Sookie raced into the waiting room, just as Rory returned down the corridor.

"Sookie St. James, how fast did you drive?" Rory asked in amazement. She'd only hung up the phone with the woman fifteen minutes ago, and Stars Hollow was nearly thirty miles away.

"I plead the fifth," Sookie answered, gasping, pressing her hand against the stitch in her side. "And I called Patty."

"You called Patty?" Rory repeated hopefully.

Lorelai looked at Rory accusingly. "You called Sookie?"

"Of course she did!" Sookie answered indignantly. "You need me!" She reached into her oversized shoulder bag and pulled out a tupperware container. "_And_ I brought something chocolate."

"I do need you," Lorelai agreed with a half-smile. She felt better, stronger, with her two best friends on either side of her. "But you didn't have to come- it's late, and Jackson's-"

"Jackson can deal," Sookie scoffed. "He knows you'd be there in a second for me, if anything ever happened to him." She looked at Lorelai hesitantly. "What did happen to Luke?"

Lorelai stirred her shoulders defensively. "I don't know," she said tightly. "We were driving home from my mother's and his truck was wrecked on the side of the road. I wasn't- I didn't- I had trouble forming sentences, let alone questions. We just followed the ambulance here. He's in surgery, that's all they'll tell me."

Sookie nodded, processing the information. She took Lorelai's hand and gripped it hard, and looked her right in the eye. "Hang on, sweetie," she said reassuringly. "And don't worry- he already knows."

"I didn't tell him," Lorelai muttered to herself guiltily, not even intending for anyone else to hear. Sookie shook her head to negate her words.

"It doesn't matter," she said firmly. "He already knows."


	8. Contact

Contact

Tentatively, Rory nudged the metal clipboard that lay on the low table in front of her. The older nurse had dropped it there quite deliberately awhile ago, with the unspoken instruction that Lorelai was to complete the form attached to it. Lorelai had just as deliberately ignored it.

"We should probably fill this out," Rory spoke up gingerly. "Nasty Nurse over there keeps giving me pointed looks."

"Well, you just give her pointed looks right back," Lorelai instructed petulantly. "Or barbed looks. Barbed looks sounds meaner."

"She's just doing her job," Rory protested faintly, but even she was having a hard time continuing to give the woman the benefit of the doubt. "Besides, what else do we have to do? We might as well do something that might help Luke."

Lorelai snorted. "I highly doubt that the scant amount of information I have about Luke will be relevant to his medical care," she said disparagingly. "Uh- he has a tattoo on his right shoulder- they've probably already figured that out, and if they haven't managed to make that observation, then I'm pretty sure we're screwed either way. He likes to fish. He sings country music in the shower but you will never in a million years get him to admit that. He wears flannel because it reminds him of his dad. He snores, and when he sleeps his hands curl up like a baby's-" She broke off with the sudden realization that she might never see Luke do any of those things ever again. "And he makes the best coffee in the world," she added, giving a watery smile.

"Luke's a snorer, huh?" Sookie mused. "So is Jackson. We should start a club or something- women who can't sleep, because the men they sleep with spend eight hours imitating a freight train."

"Good idea- the name's kind of long, though," Rory commented. "Might want to shorten it, or use an acronym."

"An acro-what?" Sookie wondered.

"It's when you take the first letter of each word in a phrase and make a new word," Rory said absently. "Like ASAP is 'as soon as possible,' or NATO is 'North Atlantic Treaty Organization.'"

"Huh."

"Back to the form," Rory said sternly. She unclipped the pen at the top of the clipboard. "Full name. Lucas….Lucas…hey, what's Luke's middle name? Does he have one?"

Lorelai shrugged. "Beats me."

"Hmmm. Okay, skip that one. Date of birth?"

"November 21st," Lorelai responded promptly.

"Year?"

"What?"

"Year. What year was he born? How old is he?"

Lorelai looked extremely puzzled, and she thought hard for a moment. "I don't know!" she finally admitted, slightly panicked. "How do I not know? I never even thought about it before. Is he older than me? Younger than me? Over the hill?" she paused dramatically. "I am dating a 40-something year-old?"

"Let's think about this logically," Rory suggested. "Jess is the same age as me. That means that his mom, Luke's sister, has to be at least as old as you, probably older, since I don't think she got pregnant at sixteen. So let's say Liz is a couple years older than you- that makes her what, 36? And Luke's her _older_ brother, so he's maybe 38?"

Lorelai frowned. "Can we put twenty-nine? I like the sound of that."

"No, you can only lie about your age on your driver's license," Rory said wryly. "Oh! Check his wallet!"

"Okay, but if he lied about it on his license, it's not going to help us much," Lorelai grumbled as she pulled the Connecticut state driver's license out of Luke's wallet. Another wave of fear and worry hit her as she stared at his picture.

"Eleven-twenty-one-sixty-six," she read, biting her lip.

"Perfect," Rory muttered as she copied it down.

"So he's three years older than me," Lorelai said slowly.

"Sex?"

"What?" Lorelai's head snapped up in surprise. "What on earth do they need to know about that for?"

"Male," Rory continued, giving her mother a funny glance.

"Oh," Lorelai realized, trying not to meet Sookie's glance but not succeeding. Sookie just grinned and shook her head.

Rory moved to the next question. "So if you don't know his birthdate, I guess it's pretty safe to assume you haven't memorized his insurance policy number, either."

"B1179832," Lorelai answered superciliously.

Rory blinked. Lorelai held up a health insurance policy card. "It was in his wallet."

"Good, we're getting better, answering more questions," Rory said, almost to herself, as she filled in the numbers Lorelai had read.

"It's not a test," Lorelai sighed tiredly.

"Previous health conditions?"

"I don't know," Lorelai answered, dismayed at how little she really knew about him.

"Allergies?"

"No clue."

"Taking any medications?"

"Rory, I think we've answered every question I know, so just give it a rest, okay?" Lorelai snapped in frustration.

"Fine." Rory tried not to be hurt. "You better give this to the nurse."

"I'm not going up there," Lorelai declared vehemently.

"Mom, come on," Rory prodded.

"No way! That nurse hates me."

"I'll come with you," Sookie offered. It was obvious both Gilmores were running out of energy, patience, and tolerance, and she figured a little intervention was required.

"Thank you, Sookie," Rory said with exaggerated politeness, aimed at her mother. As soon as Lorelai and Sookie got up Rory regretted her frustration. Lorelai was being difficult and obstinate, but right now Rory acknowledged that she had every right to be. They were both worried about Luke, but tonight Lorelai was the one who stood to lose the most.

At the front desk Lorelai handed the clipboard over to the younger, friendlier nurse. "I filled out as much as I can," she explained. "It's not a lot."

The nurse took the form and scanned it. "So I see," she frowned. "Is there anyone who would know more detailed information? We want to know about any potential drug interactions or allergies, if at all possible."

Lorelai shook her head. "Parents are dead, sister's whereabouts unknown," she answered shortly. "I'm it, and I don't know anything." She hated the feeling of helplessness that filled her.

The nurse tapped her pen thoughtfully against the clipboard. "I can try checking our records again, but it's almost impossible to find a patient unless we know the year they were admitted." She gave a rueful smile. "I always complain about this computer system, but I'm a nurse. I'm not supposed to have an opinion."

"I don't think he's ever been here before," Lorelai said, feeling a little panicked. What if there was some medication he was allergic to that she didn't know about? What if they gave it to him and he died? She shut her eyes for a second in an attempt to shut off the thought.

Next to her, Sookie squeezed her arm and spoke up. "Try under 1998," she suggested.

Lorelai looked at her in confusion while the nurse searched the computer's records.

"What? What was wrong with Luke in 1998?" she asked, momentarily distracted.

"He sprained his knee playing softball," Sookie answered.

"I didn't know that. Why didn't I know about that?" Lorelai demanded, astonished.

Sookie rolled her eyes. "Nobody knew about that," she responded darkly. "Stupid stubborn man drove himself to the hospital- with his right leg injured, by the way- and then refused to wear the brace the doctor gave him."

"So how did you know?" Lorelai asked, almost jealously.

"Someone we went to high school with works here," Sookie shrugged. "I ran into her, she asked how he was doing, bing bang boom, cat's out of the bag."

"So much for patient privacy," Lorelai muttered.

"Here he is!" the nurse announced triumphantly. "Lucas William Danes, admitted June of '98 for out-patient surgery. Wonderful- I'll get this to the ER staff right away. And I'll call his emergency contact."

"Oh, thank God," Lorelai said in relief. "Liz should know what's happened."

"Who's Liz?" the nurse queried.

"His sister. She'll be his emergency contact," Lorelai ran a hand through her hair, feeling a weight being lifted off her. Somebody was doing something. It might not be much, but it made her feel so much better.

"You mean Lorelai," the nurse corrected, cradling her phone against her shoulder and dialing.

"No, _I'm_ Lorelai, his sister's Liz," Lorelai contradicted irritably.

"Then I don't need to call her," the nurse said, hanging up the phone.

"What?" Lorelai snapped. "Of course you need to call her, she's his emergency contact! And probably the only family member you'll even be able to get hold of! Call her back!"

"I don't have a number for Liz," the nurse said calmly. "He's listed his emergency contact as Lorelai Gilmore."

Lorelai straightened abruptly. "Excuse me?"

"You're his emergency contact. But I don't need to call you- you're already here," the nurse explained patiently, swiveling around to collect Luke's record from the printer. "I'll just run this over to the ER," she said to the other nurse, who barely acknowledged her.

"I'm his emergency contact?" Lorelai repeated in astonishment to no one in particular. Stunned, she trailed after Sookie back to their seats. "I'm his emergency contact," she informed Rory when they sat down.

"Oh, Mom," Rory murmured.

"Why am I his emergency contact?" Lorelai asked, blinking quickly and pressing her lips together. "Why was I his emergency contact _five years_ ago?" She shook her head quickly, biting her lip repeatedly. "Don't answer that. I know-" She swallowed hard, fighting a losing battle against the tears that threatened to burst through her dam of self-control. "Luke." She bit her lip hard to halt the waterworks. Dammit, she had held it together all night long, not once breaking down into great blubbering sobs. And now she was going to lose it because five years ago, in a pain-medication-induced delusion, Luke had off-handedly scribbled her name on a piece of paper? Some perverse, stubborn insistence within her refused to let all that hard work of _not_ crying all night long go to waste. She sniffed loudly and held her head up.

She had managed to convince her head that it didn't mean anything. Her heart protested loudly and insistently that it meant everything.


	9. Storms and Surrender

**So…how much would you despise me if I gave you a filler chapter and then disappeared for a week on Spring Break? **

**…_That_ much? Really? Well, I don't blame you. **

**All I can say is "Patience, Grasshopper." And I'm not at all enjoying this power I have to keep you in suspense. If you don't believe me, just ask my flying monkeys. :D**

**I promise, next update: Luke's fate revealed!**

**Happy Easter!**

**

* * *

Storms and Surrender**

The automatic glass doors of the emergency room hissed open, letting in a gust of cold wind, rain, and Emily Gilmore. She marched threateningly across the room to the reception desk, her eyes focused on her target, not even glancing around the room.

"Where is she? Is she going to be all right? Can I see her?" Emily barked to anyone in the vicinity. The gray-haired nurse cursed inwardly at the echo of the hysteric words she had heard earlier that night.

"Mom?" Lorelai looked up in bewilderment, but Emily's mind was fixed on a single track and she didn't hear her.

"My daughter is in this hospital and I demand to see her," Emily instructed authoritatively, the tone of her voice just daring the nurse to disobey. Whatever slight inclination the nurse may have had towards being accommodating vanished faster than you can say 'General Hospital.'

"Ma'am, you need to calm down or I can't help you," the nurse said obstructively, folding her arms in a silent challenge to a battle of wills.

Emily narrowed her eyes. "I want to speak to your supervisor," she ordered.

The nurse just smiled smugly. "I am the supervisor," she informed her.

"How dare you be so uncooperative!" Emily spat accusingly. "My husband's grandfather helped to pay for the very wing of this hospital that you view as your own private dominion, and I spend months of my life organizing fundraisers to help support it! I can get you fired faster than you can photocopy a chart, you secretary with delusions of grandeur! Now tell me where my daughter is!"

The nurse's jaw dropped open and she stared at Emily, agape.

"Mom!" Lorelai said again, this time in a worried voice that attempted to reign in her out-of-control mother.

Emily finally whirled around, summarily dismissing the speechless nurse behind her.

"Lorelai!" she exclaimed in astonishment. She clutched her purse in confusion, her eyes darting back and forth from Lorelai to Rory and back to Lorelai again.

"Why aren't you unconscious?" she asked stupidly.

Lorelai blinked. Her mind instinctively catalogued: _ridiculous question. Requires ridiculous answer_. "Because it's no fun without the hallucinatory drugs, and I got busted breaking into the pharmacy."

Emily rolled her eyes, admirably hiding the overwhelming rush of relief she felt that Lorelai was safe and well and standing before her cracking stupid jokes. Her relief soon faded into annoyance, however, as she realized that she'd driven like a mad-woman, with her heart in her throat, and both Lorelai and Rory were standing there in full working condition looking at her like she was mental.

"Then what on earth are you doing here? More to the point, what am _I _doing here?" she asked irritably.

Silence. "There was an accident," Lorelai began with difficulty.

"Yes, yes, I know that, Rory said so on the phone," Emily interrupted bluntly. "But it's not Rory and it's not you, so you'll have to give me a better explanation than that."

Lorelai nodded, to indicate her acknowledgement despite her sudden incapacity for speech. "It's Luke," she said in an extremely unsteady voice. "It's- Luke." And with that one sentence all the wild emotions and fears and anticipations and denials of the night came crashing down, and she burst into tears.

Emily stared at her, dumbfounded. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her daughter cry. She'd seen her angry, and sarcastic, and uncooperative, and highly annoyed, but Lorelai worked hard to keep her vulnerabilities hidden. Emily was the same way.

Now all the walls and shields and defenses were gone, and all Emily could see was a frightened little girl in a terrible amount of pain. Some long-subdued maternal instinct stirred weakly within her, and she considered Lorelai for a moment. Then she made a decision, and like all of Emily Gilmore's decisions, once it was made it was swiftly and irrevocably executed. She crossed the space between them in three quick strides and took her daughter in her arms.

Lorelai let Emily hold her, uncontrollable sobs tearing through her and piercing her heart. The painful irony wasn't lost on her when she felt Emily tenderly cradle her head with her hand, the same way Luke always did. She didn't think about what this unprecedented moment of comfort and compassion meant for her relationship with Emily. All she knew was that right now she needed her mother more than at any other time in her life, and for once, her mother was here.

* * *

The emergency room's automatic glass doors slid open again not five minutes later to admit yet another Gilmore. Richard marched commandingly in, obviously piqued. 

"I parked the car," he announced to the room in general, oblivious to Rory's gentle attempts to bring his attention to the drama unfolding in front of him. He continued on, completely unaware, "It's only about a mile away. I must write to the hospital board to commend them on their excellent idea to restrict the number of parking spaces near the emergency room, since it is commonly known that it is better for people who are deathly ill or injured to spend more time in the fresh air, getting exercise on their long journey from the car to the door. I myself thoroughly enjoyed the vigorous marathon in this perfectly lovely weather."

He glared around at any hospital employees in the vicinity to ensure that his sarcasm was not lost on anyone. His baleful stare finally took in the picture of his wife clutching his daughter tightly.

"Lorelai?" he asked curiously, staring at her over the top of his glasses. "I thought you were supposed to be unconscious."

Lorelai sniffed, finally pulling away from Emily, albeit reluctantly. "That's a common misconception," she apologized wryly, clearing her throat self-consciously.

"Luke was in an accident," Rory explained at Richard's elbow, at last succeeding in securing his attention. "I think I may have forgotten to mention that when I called."

"I see," Richard said. "And what is his prognosis?"

Lorelai sighed with weariness and resigned frustration. "Isn't that the sixty-four-thousand dollar question," she mumbled.

"We don't know anything yet," Rory translated. "They don't know anything, either," she indicated the nurses with a nod of her head, "so it's no good bullying them. They'll only give you more forms to fill out."

Richard looked befuddled. He and Emily had rushed to the hospital, in the terrified belief that Lorelai had been seriously hurt, and he was still adjusting to the change of situation. Lorelai wasn't hurt- it was just Luke. Or was it _just_ Luke? Did Lorelai's revelation earlier that evening mean that Luke was now to be considered an obligatory family member? And if so, did that mean that Richard should stay? For Luke? Or for Lorelai? Staying would be a conscious and overt acceptance of the relationship that he so heartily disapproved of, but he acknowledged to himself that perhaps his decision had already been made for him. Emily was staying, that was obvious. She was staying for her daughter. For Lorelai. The importance of family existed for a moment like this.

"So what are we to do now?" Richard inquired; both Lorelai and Emily noted the 'we' with unexpressed gratitude.

"We wait," Lorelai said simply, sinking back down into her chair. "We wait."


	10. Luke Lore

**Just got back from Disneyland! That's right, I'm graduating from college in five weeks and I spent my last Spring Break in the Happiest Place on Earth. No windows, Rory. **

**So: here's two chapters, one very important revelation, and my thanks again for all your reviews. Enjoy!

* * *

**

Luke Lore

"Did he ever tell you about the time he pushed Jess in the lake?" Rory asked, her voice tinged with amusement.

"No!" Sookie's eyes popped open, and she giggled. "I would have paid good money to see that!"

"It was right after Taylor accused Jess of stealing money from the market, which he probably did, and Luke had already had it up to here," Rory held her hand level with her forehead. "He just gave Jess a big shove as they went over the footbridge and kept on walking."

"Remind me not to go on any walks with Luke in the future," Sookie chuckled. Her smile faded for a moment as the heaviness of the night weighed down on her again, but she roused herself. "How did you find out? Did Jess tell you?"

"No way," Rory scoffed. "Luke kept right on walking to Mom's, ranted in classic Luke style about kids and jam hands and parenting, and she, of course, told me all about it."

One chair away Emily eavesdropped on their conversation as she pretended to read an out-of-date trashy magazine, and she half-smiled before she caught herself and stopped. She'd only met that little punk Jess once, but it would have given her great satisfaction to have pushed him in a lake herself.

"Remember how he always complains and grumbles loudly about how pointless the Revolutionary War re-enactments are?" Sookie said. "On and on, in the town meetings, in the diner, when he sees them in the square- he doesn't shut up until it snows and they get it over with."

"But he always takes them tea and hot chocolate," Rory added fondly. "What about the time when he spent two hours chasing my science-project chick around the house?"

"Oh, I knew about that one," Sookie said meaningfully. "Stella got out and the only person your poor mom could think of to call was Luke. I told her at the time, but she didn't listen."

"Told her what?"

"That she was secretly in love with Luke and wanted to jump him."

"I've been telling her that for ages," Rory sympathized. "She had a dream once that she and Luke were married and she was pregnant. I told her it was because she was secretly in love with Luke and wanted to have his twins."

"I can't believe she didn't figure it out sooner," Sookie marveled. "Everyone's been telling her for years- you, me, Patty, Babette."

_And me_, Emily thought, feeling strangely left out.

"Isn't it funny how he always yells at me when I go behind the counter?" Sookie wondered aloud.

"Don't feel special- he yells at everyone who goes behind the counter," Rory commented wryly.

"Except for Lorelai."

"No, he yells at her, too," Rory corrected, smiling. "But he doesn't mean it. He never means it when he yells at Mom." Her smile faded and she shot a brief, worried glance at Lorelai sitting on the other side of Emily. Her legs were drawn up close to her body, and she hugged her knees as she stared unfocused at an unspecific spot on the floor. She was listening closely to every word of the conversation, but gave no sign.

"Well, he means it when he yells at me," Sookie lamented. "All because I tried to add a little something to the sauce…"

"He's just set in his ways," Rory explained consolingly. "He doesn't like change."

"So it's a good thing he's already a decent cook," Sookie sniffed. "I can't actually find fault with much of his food, and there's not much I would change, even if he took criticism well. Which reminds me- can you keep a secret?"

"From everybody but Mom- she always tortures them out of me with Dr. Phil reruns," Rory warned.

"Eh, she's the one who told me in the first place," Sookie said dismissively. "Apparently, Luke actually tries out some of my suggestions when he thinks no one's watching."

"And he told _Mom_ this?" Rory asked incredulously. "She'll never let him live that down."

"He doesn't have much to worry about," Sookie said reassuringly. "Luke's a fabulous cook, but even Michelangelo studied other artists."

"He made me a coffee cake for my sixteenth birthday," Rory remembered.

"Michelangelo?"

"No, Luke. It was amazing. He even blew up balloons and wrote 'Happy Birthday, Rory' on them."

"He loves you like you're his own kid, you know," Sookie said.

"Yeah," Rory agreed. "And I take him for granted. He's always just _there_, you know? I wish…I wish I would have told him that he's been more like a father to me than Dad ever was. I mean, I love Dad and everything, but he didn't teach me to ride a bike, or make me mashed potatoes when I had the chicken pox, or give me a big awkward hug when I got accepted to Harvard and Princeton and Yale. Luke did."

"Good old Luke," Sookie sighed.

Their conversation died out, but their words still rang loudly in Emily's ears. She stared thoughtfully at her magazine for so long that even Lorelai grew curious and roused herself from her daze. She peered over Emily's shoulder at the article that had so completely captured her mother's attention. Her eyes widened as she read the title, "What Kind of Lover Are You?" Knowing she probably didn't want the answer, she leaned over anyway and asked quietly, "So, what's the verdict?"

Emily slammed the magazine shut quickly. _Guilty_, Lorelai decided.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Emily asked, almost regretfully.

"Tell you what?"

"All this," Emily indicated Rory and Sookie's conversation with a tilt of her head. "I never knew what he did. What he does."

Lorelai stared at her in bewilderment. "What do you mean?"

"How old was he? When his parents died?" Emily seemed to suddenly and nonsensically switch topics.

"What?" Lorelai was confused, and a little reluctant to share such information. "Umm, he was really young when he lost his mom- nine or ten, I think. And his dad died fifteen years ago. Luke was in his last year of college, but he quit to come home and take care of his sister and his father's business."

Emily nodded silently.

"He had a baseball scholarship," Lorelai added, not really knowing why she was telling her mother all of this. "He probably could have gone pro."

"But family was more important," Emily analyzed.

Lorelai smiled. "Yes, family is important to Luke. Even though he hardly has any."

"You're his family," Emily stated.

Lorelai nodded, proudly. "Me and Rory."

"She obviously cares a lot about him," Emily noted. "She thinks very highly of him."

Wistfully Lorelai realized that Rory's opinion held more weight with Emily than her own did, which hurt. But she would take what she could get.

"Yes," she agreed.

Emily sat for a long moment, silent, a thoughtful look on her face.

"I hope he's all right," she finally said.

Lorelai nodded twice, swallowing in a throat that was suddenly closed to words. Slowly Emily reached out and took Lorelai's hand, and Lorelai squeezed it tightly, still hanging on.


	11. Telling Time

**Telling Time**

Lorelai blinked blearily at the clock hanging above the nurses' station. The little hand was on the one, and the big hand hovered somewhere between the seven and the eight. She was so tired she couldn't even tell what time it was; all the silly games she'd taught Rory when she was learning to tell time had flown right out of her head. _It's late_, she thought, her mind a fog. _No. It's early_.

She glanced sideways at her sleeping family. She owed Sookie big-time for this, spending all night in the Emergency room, waiting. Although Sookie had the enviable power of being able to sleep anywhere; right now her eyes were blissfully closed, chin propped on her hand, completely out. Rory was scrunched in an uncomfortable ball next to her, but she had managed to fall asleep too. The kid wasn't going anywhere. She couldn't, not without Lorelai. And Lorelai was warmed by the absolute certainty that even if she could, she wouldn't.

Not without Lorelai.

Her parents were a different matter, but she was secretly gratified that they'd stayed. They hadn't needed to, and she hadn't asked them, but it was so happily normal that they had. Normal parents waited in the emergency room with their daughter when their daughter's boyfriend was hurt. The Gilmores weren't normal, and it was highly unlikely that they would ever accept Luke as Lorelai's boyfriend unconditionally- to say nothing of accepting Lorelai as their daughter, unconditionally. But there were Richard and Emily, looking laughably out of place and excruciatingly uncomfortable, Richard slouched in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, hands folded across his stomach, head back, mouth open, snoring impressively. Emily slept the way she did everything else- as prim and properly as possible. Ankles crossed and tucked to one side, shoulders squared, head gently inclined to rest against the wall behind her- stern expression of disapproval firmly in place.

Lorelai shifted in her own chair, then with a sigh of exasperation, gave up. She'd tried at least eighty-six different positions, but the plastic chair mocked every attempt at comfort and she wasn't likely to find a way to fall asleep now. Not that she could. Every nerve- every tendon- every sinew of her body was stretched to the point of breaking. Her mind was numb and would have happily welcomed sleep, but her body refused to give up its silent, solitary vigil. Solitary, but not lonely. She didn't crave company. Company, human interaction, simple contact, would be too glaringly normal. There was no normal right now. How could there be? People didn't talk, didn't love, didn't sleep, didn't wake, when Luke drifted between life and death behind the forbidding double doors of the ER. Everything stopped. She was sure of it. Traffic paused, lights blinked out, phones ceased to ring. Everything held its breath, waiting. Her eyes might take in the movements of the hospital around her, but her mind didn't register them or process them. They weren't really moving. Everything stopped.

The man in the long white coat who wasn't moving paused at the nurses' desk and handed over a chart, his mouth that wasn't moving asking silent questions of the RNs who had just come on shift. Evidently he didn't receive answers, because he turned to the waiting room of people, all holding their breath. His mouth that wasn't moving formed words that she couldn't hear, but Lorelai knew what he said. She knew because her mouth formed the same word, with or without sound, she couldn't tell. Luke.

"Luke," she said, and everything started again. Reality snapped back into place, and now she could register the buzz of low conversation, the intermittent ring of the desk phone, the shuffle of papers- the footsteps of the approaching doctor.

"Family of Luke Danes?" he repeated, questioning.

Lorelai scrambled to her feet, wincing as her muscles punished her with sadistic glee for remaining in one place for so long. She stumbled a little on feet numb from pins and needles, and the doctor caught her arm to steady her. By now her family had fallen in behind her, looking for all the world like her back-up band or fan club.

"What's happening?" Emily demanded, her tone requiring a succinct answer.

"How's Luke?" Rory asked in a wavering voice.

"He made it through surgery," the doctor answered calmly. Lorelai closed her eyes for a brief second, feeling the warm rush of hope flood through her, surging into her veins, releasing the tension that strung her together, giving her breath again.

"My name is Dr. Kilderry," the man continued in the same practiced, soothing tone he must save for waiting families. "I took care of Luke in the ER."

"Is he going to be all right?" Sookie asked the pressing question. Lorelai couldn't seem to speak.

"He's healthy, he's strong, and I'm hopeful," the doctor answered evasively. "But he suffered some pretty extensive injuries. Left leg's broken in two places- the compound fracture in his tibia came right through the skin. Left arm, left wrist broken. Two of his ribs on the left side are broken, three are cracked. Contusions and abrasions in multiple areas, and there was some internal bleeding we were pretty worried about." The doctor paused in his catalog of injuries.

"Do you know what happened? What caused the accident?" Richard inquired. He wanted to ask about insurance claims, but thought better of it at this particular point in time.

Dr. Kilderry nodded. "One of the highway patrol officers came in a few hours ago to get details for her report," he said. "She talked to one of our interns. Apparently the right front tire of Mr. Danes's vehicle blew out, causing the truck to swerve violently across the highway. Judging by the skid marks on the road, Luke tried to correct the swerve and direct the truck onto the right hand shoulder, but the road was slippery from the rain and the tires couldn't gain traction. He must have overcorrected, jerking the wheel to the left, and the truck flipped over. The driver's side received the brunt of the impact, but the truck rolled a couple of times before ending up in the ditch."

"That's why the injuries are all on the left side," Richard interpreted.

"Precisely. It's probably safe to assume that there was some kind of head trauma, as well; it's very common in accidents as serious as this. The CAT scans we ran didn't show any intercranial swelling, but he needs to be monitored very carefully."

"Can I see him?" Lorelai finally spoke, her voice hoarse.

The doctor looked thoughtful. "They moved him up to ICU not too long ago," he explained. "ICU has a pretty strict policy- they don't allow visitors except for family members unless the patient gives permission. Luke's not exactly in a position to give permission right now."

"What- I- um-" Lorelai paused and shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs of panic that wove through her brain. "He doesn't have any family," she managed to explain shakily, for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

"None of you are related to him?" the doctor clarified. "You don't necessarily have to be blood relations- spouses are permitted." He looked at Lorelai expectantly.

"They're not married," Emily stated matter-of-factly, which Lorelai found singularly unhelpful. She glared at her mother ferociously, feeling energy and clarity and defiance return in a sudden surge with the resumption of a normal Emily-Lorelai interaction.

Dr. Kilderry frowned unhappily. "I wish I could let you in," he began, but Lorelai didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. She marched across the room to the nearest elevator and punched the up arrow- she had no clue where the ICU was, but she was going to find it and she was going to see Luke, policies be damned.

"Lorelai, you can't go up there," Emily appeared at her side, her mildly-shocked tone an odd match for the worried look on her face.

"Oh, _yes_ I can," Lorelai retorted vehemently, drumming her fingers impatiently on her folded arms. The elevator arrived and the doors slid open; Lorelai stepped back to allow its three passengers to exit.

"Ma'am, wait a moment," Dr. Kilderry requested, and Lorelai spun round icily. "That's the last time anyone in this hospital calls me ma'am," she informed him with thinly-veiled impatience. "I'm going to see Luke. I'm his emergency contact- he's already given me permission. And even if he hadn't, I'd still be going to see Luke, because I could care less about your policies and procedures, and I'm not going to wait one nanosecond longer to see if he's okay. Excuse me." And she stepped into the elevator seconds before the door closed.

Dr. Kilderry didn't try to stop her. This sort of behavior in people waiting in the emergency room was achingly common, and he'd seen it thousands of times. ICU's policy was stupid and arbitrary and totally off-the-mark in most cases, and he wasn't willing to spend his valuable time perpetrating it and pointlessly hurting people in the process. He motioned to Rory, Sookie, Emily and Richard, all of whom looked weary and bedraggled but not at all surprised at Lorelai's defiant exit.

"You might as well all go," he sighed as they crowded round him. "They might not let you in, but you can sit in the waiting room up there. It's a bit nicer than this one." He smiled wearily as the elevator descended again to the ground level. "Upholstered chairs, and everything."


	12. Connections

**Connections**

Lorelai edged into the Intensive Care Unit with the strangest sensation that her head was floating some three feet above her body on a balloon string, like a cartoon in a Sudafed commercial. It wasn't just that her mind and the rest of her seemed to have parted ways, or that her brain was curiously but completely blank while her feet and legs operated on autopilot. It was as if she was outside herself, looking down dispassionately from a helium bubble, watching herself find her way through the seventh-floor labyrinth, following the blue painted line. The yellow brick road. Off to see the Wizard. _God, I need it all right now, _she thought desperately_. A mind, a heart, a home, and a nice healthy helping of courage._ She was letting it get to her- the hospital, the smells, the dreadful, pervading sense of impending doom, the deathly serious, somber look of all the staff. _He's not dead_, she reminded herself, taking short, shallow breaths._ He's not. He's not dead, he's not dying, it's all… _

She brought herself to a stop outside the ICU wing. Suddenly she was hit by an almost irresistible impulse to turn and run, run far away from the hurt and the worry and the fear, escape to somewhere where she didn't have to feel anything, where her heart wouldn't hammer in her chest, where it wasn't just all too much. She was _afraid_, afraid of seeing Luke so crumpled and still, so unlike himself, so far from alive and well and normal. If she didn't go in, she could pretend that it never happened, that he hadn't gone to Hartford, that he hadn't smashed his truck, that he was waiting for her at home worrying and wondering where on earth she could be at two o'clock in the morning. She knew very well that the illusion would only last for as long as it took her to pull up to an empty driveway and a dark house, with no welcoming scent of coffee in the air. Luke wasn't there, he was here. Or part of him was. And she loved him. She _loved_ him, she couldn't leave him. Even as part of her strained to fly down seven flights of stairs, not stopping until she'd crossed the parking lot, miraculously honing in on the car that she had no recollection of Rory parking, another part of her- a bigger part- propelled her through the doors. Luke was here. Or part of him was. And _she_ was here, and she was going to sit and wait until the rest of him showed up. She wasn't leaving. And she wasn't going to let him leave, either.

Chin up, shoulders back, she placed her hands palm down on the front desk and asked in a firm voice for Lucas Danes's room, please.

"Are you a family member?" the male nurse asked in a quiet, sympathetic voice.

"Yes," she answered confidently, because it was easier than anything else. And she was his family, just not in the traditional, legal sense that seemed to be so important to anyone let loose in this hospital with a medical degree.

"Just in there," the nurse indicated, pointing behind her to a long row of rooms. "514."

"Thank you. If I bribe you will you leave a mint on his pillow and guarantee that he will be one-hundred percent well in less than a week?"

The nurse looked nonplussed. "Er…no."

Lorelai shrugged. "Didn't think so- just thought I'd ask."

She surveyed the room from the doorway, taking stock before taking the plunge. She couldn't look at Luke right away. It was dark, save for the muted light that glowed through the gigantic picture window on the interior wall. Lorelai could see the nurses' desk through it, where one of the half-dozen nurses would glance up every few seconds or so to make a cursory check of all the patients through their windows. _Efficient, _she thought_. Or a gross invasion of privacy_.

Luke's room was, she suspected, like all the others. A normal sized window opposite the transparent wall, a long, durable counter running at waist height beneath it. Two chairs for visitors, one on either side of the bed.

And a menagerie of oddly-shaped and weirdly-glowing machines, which hummed and whirred and clicked and beeped as if they had a life of their own, instead of quantifying and monitoring the life of the man lying so still and lifeless at the end of their wires. Finally she forced her eyes onto him, onto Luke- except he didn't look like Luke. He was so small, and frail, like an old, old man. His form was sharply outlined under the sheets, odd lumps and bumps from casts and splints and braces sticking up and out on the left side. He was attached to so many wires it looked like he was being sucked dry by a writhing, slithering, many-tentacled monster. His skin was so pale under the bandages, and his face matched the dull white of the pillowcase. His eyes were closed, but he didn't look like he was sleeping- his face was too drawn, too pained, even in unconsciousness.

Lorelai swallowed hard and took a deep, deep breath. Somewhere in there, somewhere under the wires and bandages and monitors and hospital smells, was Luke. She bit her lip so hard tears came to her eyes, and then she bit her lip even harder to hold the tears back. "Oh, Luke," she whispered in a choked voice, teetering on the edge of losing control. She couldn't reconcile the memories and images she had of him in her mind with the broken, battered man before her. And it _hurt_, it hurt to see him like this, to reach out and feel the same frightening sensation of immobility and all-encompassing wracking pain, and then to draw back in terrible pity because he couldn't feel anything at all.

She moved around to the left side of the bed, skirting the chair and squeezing in next to an EKG machine. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out an unsteady hand and touched his face. He had a five o'clock shadow already, and the familiar feeling of rough bristles on her fingertips brought everything home to Lorelai. She almost smiled, and felt a fiercely loving, protective instinct rise up in her. Gently she smoothed his hair back, then bent and kissed his forehead. "I'm here, Luke," she said softly.

She sighed and reined her emotions in more tightly, straightening up long enough to scoot her chair closer to the bed. She sat down, taking his uninjured right hand in hers.

"I hope you're not thinking of dying, Luke Danes," she began, almost conversationally. "Because that would be such a major inconvenience for me. I mean- to say nothing of having to find something to put in your empty drawer- where would my caffeination come from? Without Luke's, I'd have to find a whole new routine in the mornings. And I'd starve to death, minor point… Plus my house would fall down, so I'd be homeless. Dead, and homeless. I guess I wouldn't need a house if I were dead…but Rory still would, so you're putting her out, too. Really, it's very selfish of you to be lying here, oblivious to my wants and needs. I expected more from you." She took a breath. "And why would you want to die, anyway? It'd be boring. No one to get you all riled up at a town meeting, no one to increase your insurance premiums by sneaking behind the diner counter, no one to ignore your health lectures, no one to drag you out of bed in the middle of the night to stand in the snow. No one to stick up for you, no one to listen to you, no one to hold you, no one to care about you-" she broke off suddenly.

"Dammit, Luke," she muttered ungraciously, rubbing her eyes tiredly, "would you wake up so I can tell you I love you?"

She waited a second, peering intently at his face, hoping for an eye-twitch at least. Nothing.

She sighed loudly. "That is so like you, you stubborn, obstinate, perverse, irritating person. Fine. I'll wait. It's not like _you're_ going anywhere."


	13. Cruel Certainty

**Cruel Certainty**

"Can I help you?"

He started, though he was careful not to show it. He regarded her coolly, studying her with that peculiar intensity of his that always seemed to make people uncomfortable. The nurse, no different, shifted awkwardly under his fathomless gaze, rubbing her palms repeatedly against her turquoise-blue scrubs and flicking her eyes back and forth across the wall.

"Can you help _him_?" he finally spoke, his voice as curiously flat and unemotional as his expression. The nurse straightened a little, feeling surer on this familiar ground. He read her ID badge. Leigh.

"We're taking very good care of him," she answered reassuringly, her tone carefully calculated and practiced. "Some of the best doctors in Connecticut are keeping a close eye on him." It was the same answer she gave to every panicked, inquisitive relative, but this time it sounded somehow inadequate. She felt his relentless stare again, and frowned.

"Can you help him," he repeated, exquisitely aware of her discomfort but feeling no generous urges of sympathy.

"Probably." This time she was bluntly honest. She wasn't going to pander to the sensibilities of this dark, haunted-looking boy- young man, really. He snorted at her answer.

"Probably?" he echoed derisively. "That's the best you can do?"

The nurse bristled, folding her arms defiantly in front of her and deciding to conveniently forget the hours of training she'd had in grief counseling and honest empathy. "If you're looking for certainty, you came to the wrong place, kid," she retorted evenly. "This is a hospital. You want certainty, try the IRS."

He nodded slowly in acknowledgement and appreciation of her point, and her pique, and turned back to stare through the massive picture window in the wall. He could see his own reflection, superimposed on the scene inside the room. He was thin, thinner than before, with a gaunt, hollow-eyed look to him. He figured that was due to lack of sleep, but he didn't kid himself in thinking that that was the only reason he looked so empty and lifeless.

"How bad is he?" he asked, his expression unchanging as he gracefully gestured with a slight incline of his head.

The nurse chewed her lip and narrowed her eyes at him. "Pretty bad," she answered evenly. "But I've seen worse than him come through."

He nodded again, and she was fascinated and repulsed by his unfeelingly calm demeanor.

"You family?" she asked suspiciously.

He stirred his shoulders, momentarily disturbing the hang of his worn black leather jacket. "Sure," he answered noncommittally.

She glared ferociously at his nonchalance. "Only family members are allowed," she said sternly. "ICU policy."

His expression changed, slightly, but it was still unreadable. "I'm family," he confirmed in a defeated way, like he wouldn't be if he could choose not to be. Leigh had run out of time and patience to play guessing games and to interpret his moody responses.

"You can go in," she instructed in a no-nonsense voice. "Just don't disturb her- she's been sitting there for hours, and this is the first time I've seen her resting."

He started again, more visibly this time, as the nurse stalked away. She had been hidden before, obscured behind his dark reflection, but now he could see the slender figure bent awkwardly forward over the bed, her head pillowed on her folded arms. He held his breath for a moment. If she was here, then surely that meant that _she_ was here, too. His heart pounded for a moment until he told himself that there had been no one in the outer waiting room, and his panic left him. It was replaced by a scientific-like curiosity, as he analyzed why Lorelai Gilmore was fast asleep in room number 514 of the Hartford Memorial Hospital ICU.

He could definitely picture the scenario in reverse, with his besotted uncle keeping vigil beside her unconscious form, but he was missing the joke here. He knew they were friends, he knew she cared about him the same way she cared about Sookie and Jackson and Lane and Kirk, and she'd told him herself in that soft, starry-eyed way that she thought he was very special. But he had never seen her indicate that she felt anything more than that, and he'd confidently predicted to himself that that particular relationship wasn't going anywhere unless Luke initiated it- which of course he'd never do.

So what was she doing, here, now? Concern for a friend wouldn't keep someone hunched over an ICU bed at 4 o'clock in the morning, would it? Or maybe she'd finally gone delusional, convinced herself that Luke's particular person was the actual source of the coffee she craved, and she was sitting there waiting for it to start spurting out of his IV.

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, debating whether he should go in. The movement of his shadow caused different beams of light to shine into the room, and he suddenly noticed that her hand was clutched tightly around his, in a subtle but strangely clear indication of connectedness that he recognized at once. He drew a sharp breath in between his teeth. _That_ was why she was here.

He clenched his fists tightly as the scene imprinted itself on his vision, and the still, calm depths of his mind began to churn angrily. What a terrible, ironic, colossally unfair waste it all was. There was no meaning to any of it, no chance for anyone when it came right down to it. Hobbes had been right- life was nasty, brutish, and short, with nothing to hope for, nothing to strive for. He didn't want to live in a kind of world where living meant that a good, kind, generous man like Luke, waiting patiently and selflessly for years on end for the woman he loved to even notice him, was finally rewarded just in time to lie dying in a hospital bed. What sort of cruel, unforgiving, taunting world was that to live in? It ended his hope, entrenched his cynicism, and broke his heart.

He wouldn't stay and watch. He couldn't.

He left.

And Lorelai opened her eyes.

* * *

...Okay, so I'm SOOOO sorry it's taken me this long to update. I have a bunch of excuses- wanna hear 'em? Since this is a pretty dark chapter, I absolutely refused to post it after Black Tuesday last week- who needs more angst after _that_? And mini-rant- Luke and Lorelai's relationship shot to hell because of Christopher? Haven't we seen that plot twist before? Season 5 deja vu, anyone? End rant. It's okay, everything will be fine (hopeless optimist speaking here) and we still have fanfic. Which brings me back to my original point (I think). I absolutely promise that the next chapter is the one you've been waiting for :) As always, thank you for the reviews; I hope sometime in the not-too-distant future I'll be able to respond to them, but so far the universe has been conspiring against me. Bendelschnitz. 


	14. Plans and Promises

**TA DA!

* * *

Plans and Promises **

"You know you really shouldn't sleep like that."

Lorelai started awake again at the sound of Emily's voice, wincing as she snapped her head up from the hospital bed and her neck twinged uncomfortably.

"What?" she asked groggily, absently stretching and rubbing the back of her neck.

"You shouldn't sleep like that," Emily repeated matter-of-factly. "You'll hurt your neck."

Lorelai dropped her hand immediately, automatically programmed to willfully contradict whatever came out of her mother's mouth. "I'm fine," she countered defensively.

Emily just nodded, willing to let it pass. She paused awkwardly. "How is he?" she gestured at Luke.

Lorelai shrugged helplessly, drawing her lips inward. "I don't know," she admitted unhappily. "The same, I think. All those...thingys... are still flashing and beeping, which I guess is a good sign." She pointed off-handedly at the blood pressure and heart monitor machines, filled with a sinking feeling at the realization that there was still no change that she could measure. She sighed deeply and tightened her grip on Luke's hand.

Emily sat quietly and patiently across the bed from her, her expression unreadable.

"Thank you," Lorelai said impulsively, breaking the silence. "For coming. And… for staying."

Emily nodded again to acknowledge her gratitude. "It's hard to do this alone," she said simply. "I know you can, but you don't have to."

Lorelai smiled, genuinely. "Like mother, like daughter," she commented, not quite sure what she meant by it.

Emily smiled back, but didn't look at her. "I was glad to have you there," she said formally. "When Richard was…well…you know."

"I know," Lorelai said quietly. She cleared her throat and looked around the room, trying not to fidget. "It's so hard to just…sit here, not do anything."

"What would you do without him?" Emily asked dispassionately.

Lorelai shot her a puzzled glance, then with astonishment realized her mother wasn't just thinking out loud; it was an actual question. "What- are you serious?"

"It was the first thing I thought of when Richard was lying in that bed," Emily pointed her chin at Luke. "What to do, how to cope, arrangements that needed to be made, just in case."

Lorelai could barely fathom how to react. "Mom, I don't-"

"I stopped myself right away," Emily continued. "I mean, what sort of person stands there coldly and thinks about wills and funerals before someone even dies? It scared me to think that I was that sort of person. But I like being organized. I like plans. And this just ruins the plan, doesn't it?"

"Forget the plan, Mom," Lorelai exclaimed in shocked disbelief. "You just- you have to deal with stuff as it happens! You can't worry about what _might_ happen. I'm not going to make another plan for my life without Luke, because I'm praying with all my heart that I won't need one!"

"But do you know what you'd do?" Emily asked with strange curiosity. "Would you be strong enough? What would happen? Where would you go? It doesn't hurt to think about it."

"Yes, it does," Lorelai said firmly, almost overwhelmed at how sad she felt that Emily's heart and mind operated so analytically. "I'm not like you," she tried to explain, wondering if she'd finally discovered that one important difference that separated the two of them. "I don't like plans. I don't want to know what's going to happen next week, or in ten years. I just want to make the most of right now, to live the moment that's never going to come again. The only option I can bear to think about right now is that Luke will wake up, and everything will be okay again. I can't- I can't deal with anything else."

"You get hurt that way," Emily pointed out. "If you plan for all possibilities, you can prepare yourself."

"No," Lorelai shook her head vehemently. "No. I can't think like that. I can't do that. I have to believe that everything will work out, I have to deny the inevitable for as long as possible, just in case it isn't inevitable, just in case it changes. That's the way I am." She sighed in defeat. "But you've never understood that, have you?"

"I want to save you from being hurt!" Emily defended herself. "If I can protect you by planning ahead, then that's what I'll do."

"It hurts _more_ to plan, Mom," Lorelai explained wearily, too tired and numb to argue. "It would be like I'm giving up on him, and I would never forgive myself for that."

Emily shook her head disapprovingly. "So we'll just have to hope that he wakes up, then," she said without much conviction.

"That's the game plan so far," Lorelai said pointedly. She turned her gaze on Luke's still form. "If ever there was a time to prove me right in front of my mother, now's the time to do it, bub," she told him dryly.

Emily smiled wistfully at her daughter's persevering optimism. Emily had learned hard lessons in her life, painful ones, and she wished she could pass on her wisdom to her daughter and shield her from experiencing it herself. But Lorelai was never one to learn from other people's mistakes. She had to go out there full force and try everything herself, no matter what the consequences, no matter what the risks. Emily wanted to allow herself to hope that Lorelai would always be able to have faith, would always be able to deny the inevitable until the very last second. But that was like closing her eyes and jumping off a ledge, with no plan on how she was going to get to the bottom. She needed a plan. So she planned for the inevitable. She planned that Lorelai would be hurt, and she planned how to protect her from it.

Lorelai shuffled uncomfortably in the silence. "I wonder what time it is," she said, in a half-hearted attempt to change the subject.

"Close to five, I should think," Emily replied. "In the morning."

Lorelai made an awful face. "I've been trying to forget that there was such a time," she grumbled.

"Here." Emily reached under her chair and produced a Styrofoam cup. "We went to the cafeteria a little while ago. Rory said you'd need this."

"Coffee!" Lorelai accepted the cup gratefully, careful not to spill it as she reached across the bed.

"It's probably cold by now," Emily apologized.

Lorelai had already drunk half the cup by the time Emily finished her sentence. "Wow, that is seriously disgusting," she commented cheerily, before taking another sip.

"Don't drink it, then," Emily rolled her eyes.

"Coffee is coffee, Mom," Lorelai grinned, swallowing another cold mouthful. "Even if they try to disguise it as vinegar mixed with slightly congealed mud."

"Lorey…" his voice was raspy and unused, but suddenly and unexpectedly _there_, and the coffee cup dropped from Lorelai's hand.

"Luke!" she gasped, oddly feeling the same tearing pain again as when she'd stood in the rain at the accident site. "Luke…" the coffee cup and her mother were completely forgotten, and she pulled his hand close to her heart. Tears were forming in her eyes, to her own bemusement, but she couldn't tell if they were tears of happiness, relief, or release. His eyes fluttered open for a second, then closed. Her heart stopped until he opened them again and focused on her face.

"Lorey," he murmured again.

"Hey," she smiled, blinking quickly to avoid crying.

Emily scooted her chair back abruptly. "I'll go tell the others," she announced, and left the room.

"Where am I?" Luke grunted, wincing in pain as he tried to move.

"Lie still," Lorelai instructed gently, kissing the fingers of his hand she still held. "You were in an accident, so now you're in the hospital."

"I hate hospitals," he told her irritably and nonsensically.

"I know, sweetie. But you smashed yourself up pretty bad, so you need to be here."

"What happened?" he wanted to know, frowning as he tried to remember.

She smoothed his hair off his face. "You crashed your truck on the way home from Hartford," she explained. "Something about a blown-out front tire and skidding, I wasn't really paying attention to the doctor by that point."

"Ah," he said, his recollection coming back. "So how's George?" he tried to smile, to reassure her.

"About as bad as you," she said jokingly. He would probably have to write the truck off, but he didn't need to hear that right now.

"How bad am I?" he wondered, moving his arms and legs experimentally and grimacing at certain attempts at movement.

She was silent, looking down at their entwined hands, biting her lip.

"Lorelai?" he asked, suddenly worried.

She looked back up, tears pooling in her eyes. "You're all right now," she said, swallowing hard. "But-" her voice broke and she closed her eyes, causing the tears to spill over and trickle down her face. "But I thought you were going to die," she gulped, pressing her hand to her mouth and trying to stop her shoulders from shaking. "Oh, God, Luke, I thought you were going to die!" She leaned over him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, awkwardly avoiding all the wires and casts, and buried her face against his neck. He reached around with his good arm and held her, twisting a little so he could kiss the top of her head.

"I'm not going to die," he whispered firmly against her hair. He blinked as he realized something. "At least I don't think so- what's my prognosis?"

She laughed a little and pulled back, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "You're going to be okay," she declared, straightening his sheets and pulling his blanket higher. "You've got lots of broken bones, but they'll heal, and the doctors were worried about your brain, but you've got such a thick head I'm sure there's nothing wrong there. You're going to be okay," she repeated, smiling.

"Good," he answered, satisfied.

"Good," she echoed, feeling all her worry melt away. "Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I know," he smiled tiredly but contentedly, reaching up to touch her face.

"You do?"

"Yeah. But you can never say it enough."

She kissed him, slowly and gently. "I love you," she said again. He stared at her in wonder, a warm glow flickering in his eyes. "I love you too," he said gruffly.

"Well, everyone does," she grinned, teasingly.

"Lorelai…" he rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

"Except maybe the ER nurse downstairs…" she mused thoughtfully. "We didn't exactly hit it off, I'm not sure she'll be sending me a Christmas card this year, but everyone else, I'm pretty sure-"

She broke off when he kissed her again. "I love you more than everyone else," he said firmly. "And I will show you, as soon as I can get out of this bed."

"Promises, promises," she grinned.

**

* * *

**

...So I was watching season 5, Wedding Bell Blues, and I got to the part when Luke knocks on the back door to borrow the extension cord. "Who is it?" "It's me." "Me who?" Then a frustrated Luke says, "Lorey, can you just open the door." And I thought, aww, how sweet that nickname is, how affectionate and intimate. Then I re-watched it and realized he probably said _Rory_, which sounds a lot like Lorey (go figure.) But I liked that vulnerable and loving side of Luke so I decided to keep my original interpretation for this story.

Thanks as well for the great feedback for the last chapter; I wasn't intending to throw Jess in there, but the Muse was very insistent. :-D


	15. What's In A Name

**What's In a Name**

Emily stumbled down the long ICU corridor, glad that it dead-ended in the waiting room. She wasn't sure if she would have been able to find Rory otherwise. That word kept lighting up in her mind, as if it were seared by fire into her brain. It had to be the same one, didn't it? It had to be the one she used, in secret, the one that was special. He had to take that from her, just like he was taking her daughter.

"Grandma!" Rory jumped to her feet as Emily approached. One look at her grandmother's face and Rory crumpled. "Oh, no," she whimpered, clenching her fists tightly. Her face twisted in pain. "Oh, God, no, no..."

"He's awake," Emily reported tonelessly.

Rory blinked in shock. "What?"

"He's awake," Emily repeated. "I assume that means he's going to be okay."

"He's awake!" Rory shouted joyfully. "Grandpa, Sookie, he's awake! He's okay!"

"Oh, thank God," Sookie sighed in relief, getting to her feet and grabbing her purse. "Do you think we can see him?"

"I don't see why not," Richard said authoritatively. "We've been waiting long enough, I'd say we've earned the privilege."

"Let's go," Rory said eagerly to Emily, starting down the hall after the others. Quickly Emily reached out and took her arm.

"He called her Lorey," she hissed in a low voice. Rory looked at her, nonplussed.

"Yeah, he sometimes does," she said, smiling. "But only very occasionally, and absolutely no one else can get away with it. I know, I tried."

"I used to," Emily said in an oddly emotional voice.

"What?"

"When she was little. A baby. We'd always said that if it was a girl we would name her after our mothers, Lorelai Victoria. But Lorelai was such a big name for such a tiny baby…" Emily trailed off, hardly aware that Rory was still listening.

"I called her Lorey for short. She seemed to like it, that is until Richard's mother came. She informed me quite insistently that babies should not be given nicknames until they were old enough to distinguish between their real name and their nickname. She told me I was an irresponsible mother and that I was doing my daughter a disservice, and that I must call the baby Lorelai at all times."

"Wow, Grandma," Rory raised her eyebrows in amazement. "I guess Gran is a pretty opinionated lady, huh?"

"She was intimidating as hell," Emily declared darkly. "I was twenty-three years old, married for barely a year with a brand-new baby, and she scared me to death. I couldn't stand up to her." She paused thoughtfully. "I never stood up to her."

"I'm…sorry, Grandma," Rory ventured awkwardly, not sure what to say.

"Why does he call her that?" Emily asked wistfully.

"I don't really know," Rory shrugged. "I guess Lorelai is such a big name, to live up to…there's a lot of pressure that comes with it, isn't there? What with it being Gran's name, and a Gilmore name…maybe it's nice not to have to think about all that when she's with Luke. Maybe it's just a way of being herself for awhile, with no obligations."

"So being herself means not being Lorelai," Emily observed, offended. "Not being a Gilmore."

"No," Rory answered firmly. "Not at all. She named me Lorelai, didn't she? She passed that on to me. It was important to her."

"She passed a lot on to you," Emily finally gave a small smile. "Although she certainly didn't give you your tact."

"I must have got that from you," Rory said with a straight face.

"Oh, stop it," Emily swatted at her playfully. She sighed deeply and smoothed down her jacket. "She's going to marry him, isn't she?"

"What?"

"Luke," Emily sighed again. "She's going to marry Luke."

"Did he ask her?" Rory's jaw dropped open in delighted surprise.

"No," Emily answered. "But he will. And she'll say yes."

"Oh, I hope so," Rory gushed happily. "That would be _perfect_."

"You may be right," Emily agreed carefully. She turned to head back to Luke's room. "Shall we?"

Rory fell in step beside her. "Hey, Grandma? Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, dear."

"My real name is Lorelai, too. So why do you call me Rory?"

Emily smiled wistfully at her. "Because that's who you are," she answered simply. "And because I learn from my mistakes."


	16. Left Over

Sorry for the wait...you'd think with school being over I'd actually have more time on my hands, but no. Here's just a little short in-between chapter; the next one is the last, but it will be long!**

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**Left Over**

It was light by the time he got back to the tiny, dingy apartment off Washington Square. He hadn't slept on the bus, even though he was exhausted; he didn't want to close his eyes for fear that his reality would turn into nightmares. _And another one bites the dust_, he thought blindly. _Has anyone ever figured that relationships don't work because one person always leaves_?

He let himself into his mother's apartment; technically, Liz didn't know he was here, but he figured she wouldn't mind if he crashed for a few days. That's what he'd told himself three weeks ago, anyway. He was looking for a place. He'd been looking for a place for a long time. He still hadn't found one, but maybe it was time to leave anyway. It was always better to be the first one to leave. It didn't hurt as much.

He yanked open the refrigerator door and squinted into its dark interior. The bulb had been out since he'd been back, and for who knows how long before that, but he hadn't bothered to change it. There were some oddly-shaped leftovers from the taco dinner he'd bought last night, and a half-empty beer. Not half-full. It was never half-full for him.

He decided against the tacos but took the beer, staring around the quiet apartment. The early morning sunlight filtered in through the blinds, making precise lines on the floor. The summer air seemed heavy. He finished the beer and started throwing his clothes into his duffel bag, dirty ones first. He had no idea where he was going, but he was going somewhere. Somewhere else.

The phone rang suddenly, but he ignored it, gathering his CDs and books, straightening the mess he'd made.

The answering machine picked up, and the outgoing message played. "What's up, my friends?" He shook his head, annoyed. She was so easy-going. It made going easy.

"Jess?" he recognized the voice instantly, and froze. It was the same voice, the same tone even, that she'd use to tell him to take better care of her daughter. He didn't know why she was angry at him now. Maybe she wanted to tell him to take better care of himself. "Jess, I know you're there. Or maybe you're somewhere in between here and there- I don't know how long the bus takes, but I know you're there. Or you will be there. And I know you were here."

He gritted his teeth in frustration. He was trying to cut the ties, dammit. Why the hell was she reaching out?

"It's Lorelai," she continued after an awkward pause. "You probably figured that out from all the rambling…for somebody who talks a lot you'd think I could figure out how to say things coherently, but apparently not." She gave a small self-deprecating laugh.

"He's okay," she finally got to the point. Jess paused, staring at the flashing red light on the machine. "He's okay," she repeated, her voice wavering a bit. "I thought you'd want to know. You should've… you should've stayed, you know? He would have wanted to see you. But I didn't tell him you were here. Nobody knows. I figured that's what you wanted."

She sighed loudly. "I should hate you, Jess. I don't know why I don't hate you. You were young, and stupid, and selfish, and you hurt the two people I care most about in the entire world, and it's changed them. Luke and Rory. So now I guess you know you had an impact. Nobody will forget that you were here, anyway."

He tried to stop listening, jamming his feet back into his worn-out sneakers and zipping up his jacket. It was too hot for a jacket, but he always wore it.

"I know you're going to erase this as soon as I hang up," Lorelai's voice finished. "So I'll call back and leave a message for your mom, let her know Luke's okay. Don't erase that one. So…okay, bye. Take care of yourself." She hung up.

He stared at the machine for a long moment, counting the pulses of the flashing red light. One…two..three…

He had to do it now; it was like she'd given him a challenge. Four…five…six…

He reached out and punched the message-erase button. _Good-bye, Lorelai_.

The phone rang again. "What's up, my friends?"

He grabbed his duffel and slung it over his shoulder, eyeing the apartment one last time.

"Liz, hi, this is Lorelai Gilmore…"

He slammed the door shut on the message, locking it all behind him.


	17. Six Weeks Later

**A/N**: Well, this is it. The last chapter. The final installment. The ultimate offering. I'm all done! (Can I have a cookie now?) This was a hard chapter to write (I know, everybody says that) but…

I could have kept on going, but I had to find a good place to end or the story would have been 742 chapters long! Thank y'all for your patience with erratic updates in between finals, term papers, and college graduations, and for such supportive reviews- over a hundred! I'm really flattered, thank you!

A special thanks to the following (in no particular order) for giving me a major incentive (aka kick in the pants) to keep going and actually finish the story by informing me in no uncertain terms in their reviews that I would be eaten by a poison-injecting-slow-chewing turtle if I didn't:

**Chmelms, MizJoely, suusje32, Scottjunkie, Rachaellovestoread, orangesherbert7, Hamlets-pirate, apple705, flirtswithdisaster, Christi06, Javajunkie101, Lukedanesloverr, LaurenIsMe, BluJPlover, Xmaschild, Bellybuttonsrcool, XAddisonShepardX, LukeAndLorelaiAlways, Erica Bing, Prunenikel, Borncountry88, PuffingNoise, Aida, Muffin aux carottes, CharmedGurlie, JJSoulmatesLL, JavaJunkie22, Love2rite, Lukenlorelai4life, Amanda6292, Jade-Tessier **

Seriously, it's amazing and so encouraging to know that there are people out there who like what I write and who want to read more.

My sisters and I are pulling a Season 3 Gilmore and backpacking through Europe this summer (what _would_ Emily say?) so I won't be around for awhile. Take care everyone, and hope you like the final chapter!

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Six Weeks Later **

"I wanna do it."

"No."

"Luke, come on! It's my turn."

"No way. I'm not suicidal."

"I'm not gonna hurt it," she pouted, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Long experience says otherwise."

She stuck her tongue out and edged closer to the stove. "You just don't want anyone else to play with your spatula."

He tried very hard to keep a straight face. "Dirty," he informed her matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I know." She stood by his side and leaned her head against his arm. They were in her kitchen cooking breakfast. Well, Luke was cooking breakfast. The only thing he'd let her do was make the coffee, which of course he wasn't going to drink.

"Please?" she tried again. "I wanna flip."

He sighed loudly and a tad theatrically, but relinquished the spatula. "Fine. But you've already flipped."

She crowed triumphantly as she took the spatula and started poking the pancakes. Luke rolled his eyes and went back to the cupboards, pulling out all the ingredients he'd just put away.

"What are you doing?" she demanded indignantly.

"Making a new batch for when you ruin those," he shrugged easily.

She made a shocked face. "Luke! I am hurt that you have so little faith in my abilities," she scolded. She wrinkled her nose as the edge of one of the pancakes started to burn, and reconsidered. "And impressed that you know me so well."

He grinned at her as he broke two eggs into the mixing bowl. She took one more look at her handiwork in the frying pan and sighed, turning the heat off and abandoning it as a lost cause. Happily she returned to her coffee cup at the kitchen table and went back to watching Luke cook breakfast. It was such a good system, really. So efficient. It wasn't broken, so why fix it?

He walked back over to the stove, limping only a little from the knee-high walking cast he still wore on his left leg. It was remarkable how quickly he'd healed after the accident, but, as she'd told his doctor, she might not be much of a cook- but she was a hell of a nurse.

"So I talked to my mother yesterday," she began casually. Luke nodded, concentrating on the pancakes. Nowadays that kind of announcement wasn't usually cause for alarm, since Lorelai had entered into a cautiously healthy relationship with her mother. They were remarkably civil to one another, especially since Emily had taken a much less judgmental interest in Lorelai's life and had actually grown a new pair of ears to listen with. It was far from perfect, though, and part of Luke was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. On his head.

"She said to tell you thank you for coming by the other day to drop off her DAR banner, and that she's bought you a new hat."

Luke snorted. "Excuse me?"

"That's what I said. I thought it was a DAR tablecloth that you picked up for her, but apparently not. Banner, tablecloth, same difference."

"What kind of hat?" Luke asked warily, ignoring the irrelevant ramble.

Lorelai grinned wickedly. "You know my mother. They don't make baseball hats in her world, so she probably bought you a derby. Or a bowler. Or hey, maybe even a top hat! That would be cool, I could borrow it."

"Lorelai, I think it's great that you and your mother are getting along so well, but please, tell her not to buy me a hat. Ever."

"I can't do that," Lorelai answered solemnly. "I think it's the only thing holding us together."

"Terrific."

Lorelai turned back to her coffee, laughing to herself. Grumpy Luke was so much fun.

He slid a plate of pancakes in front of her and sat down to his own breakfast- granola and yogurt. Lorelai made a face. "You eat weird food," she informed him.

"You have a weird family," he responded wryly.

"Look who's talking," she scoffed around a mouthful of syrup-drenched pancake.

His smile faded abruptly, and he toyed with his yogurt spoon before looking up at her, considering.

"Lorelai?"

"Luke?" she imitated his serious tone mischievously.

He smiled faintly, recognizing that she was in her witty and sarcastic mocking mood. "Never mind."

Lorelai bit her lip and mentally kicked herself for shutting him down. Communicating with Luke wasn't exactly hard, but it was complicated. He didn't open up very often, and when he did he did so reluctantly. She knew she needed to be more alert to the signals when he wanted to tell her something, and promised herself she'd be better from now on. She was still learning.

"I'm sorry, hon," she apologized. "Please, talk to me."

He deliberately looked away. "Were you ever going to tell me?" he asked noncommittally.

"Probably," she answered airily, having no idea what he was talking about. "Tell you what?"

He rolled his eyes. "Tell me that Jess came to the hospital."

Lorelai blinked. She definitely hadn't been expecting that.

"Jess came to the hospital?" she stalled.

"Lorelai…" he said warningly. She could tell he was running out of patience.

"Jess came to the hospital," she repeated, sighing deeply. Tentatively she reached out and took his hand, and felt ridiculously relieved when he didn't pull away. "How did you know?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head like it didn't matter. "One of the nurses mentioned some scruffy teenage family member who came by," he said off-handedly. "Only one person I know who fits that description." She knew very well his careless tone was there to protect his vulnerable heart.

Lorelai sighed again. "I didn't see him, only heard him," she explained. "He was tormenting some poor night nurse outside the door. They thought I was asleep, and he didn't come in." She tightened her grip on his hand. "I didn't tell you because… he didn't stay. He didn't want anyone to know he'd been there, and…" She blew out an exasperated breath. "I didn't want to tell you in case Rory found out, for one, and because I didn't want to tell you that your nephew didn't stick around to see if you were okay." She scooted her chair around the table so she could look directly into his face. "Luke, he really does care about you, you know."

He cleared his throat and looked at her skeptically. "Yeah, we have a real bond," he said dryly.

"You do," she countered, ignoring his sarcasm. "You made a difference in that kid's life, and he's never going to forget it. He's never going to forget you, and he knows he owes you. Jess isn't stupid. He knows what you did for him, and he knows that you care about him. He just has to figure himself out."

"It's taking him long enough," Luke grumbled.

"Yeah, well," Lorelai grinned. "That quiet, moody-broody behavior must be in the genes."

He looked at her, resigned amusement in his eyes.

"He'll be back, Luke," she said with conviction. "Not yet. He's not ready. But one day, trust me- he'll be back." She paused, smiling. "Not that I'm thrilled about that, mind you. That kid is trouble."

He reached over and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms securely about her. "I hope you're right," he confessed wearily, leaning his chin against her shoulder. A thought occurred to him, and he pulled back slightly to look at her. "How did he know to come to the hospital in the first place?" he asked quizzically.

"Rory called, almost as soon as we got to the hospital," Lorelai explained, playing absently with the buttons on his shirt. "She left a message for your sister in New York. Liz didn't get it, but Jess did."

Luke nodded thoughtfully.

"I called him, too," Lorelai added conversationally. "Once we knew you were going to be okay, I called him. He didn't answer, but I'm pretty sure he got the message."

Luke studied her. "You did that for him?" he asked with mild surprise.

"No," she shook her head warmly, slipping one arm around his neck. "I did it for you." He felt weak from the glow in her eyes. She lowered her head until her lips were next to his ear. "I'd do anything for you, Luke Danes."

He raised an eyebrow. "Anything?" he repeated.

"Anything."

An uncontrollable grin spread across his face as he tightened his grip around her. "Well, in that case…" he murmured, lowering his lips to her neck.

She laughed richly. "I thought you were supposed to be an invalid," she teased.

"Guess not," he breathed, and slowly let his lips touch hers. She shuddered as tiny tendrils of passion shot down her spine. "Luke…" she whispered as they parted. He kissed her again, and she couldn't do anything else but give in to him. He ran his hands over her body, and she pressed even closer to him, opening her mouth. As the kiss intensified he started to reach for the buttons on _her_ shirt. Neither of them were aware of anything but each other, not even the quiet sound of the front door opening.

"Mom, I'm ho- oh, my _god_," Rory gasped as she walked innocently into the kitchen. Her armful of cardboard boxes fell to the floor with a thud.

Lorelai yanked herself away from Luke, regarding her daughter with guilty eyes and swollen lips. Luke turned bright red and couldn't even look at Rory.

"Hi, hon," Lorelai greeted in a voice higher than usual. "Did you find what you needed at Lane's?"

"Uh-huh," Rory answered awkwardly. "Her mom had millions of boxes, so…" she edged cautiously into the kitchen, just far enough to gather her boxes and slide sideways into her room. "So I'll just be in here, packing, and listening to music, you know- _really loud_." She shut the door with grateful finality.

Lorelai bit her lip, feeling a ridiculous urge to laugh. "Whoops," was all she said.

"Yeah, whoops," Luke agreed dryly.

"Hey, you started it," she said accusingly, getting up off his lap. "_And_ you burned my pancakes."

"I'll never do it again," he promised, feigning seriousness.

"Hmm, not sure if I'm okay with that," she mused aloud.

"What, me not burning the pancakes?" Lazily he got to his feet and came to stand beside her, inspecting the breakfast casualties.

"You know, once Rory moves to college next week, this won't happen anymore," Lorelai pointed out suddenly.

"Pancake slaughter?" Luke clarified.

She rolled her eyes at him. "No," she said, sweetly withering. She regarded him carefully. "It will be awfully strange, living in this big house all by myself."

"Really," he commented, sliding a hand around her waist.

"Yes," she answered slowly, leaning against him. "If only I knew a nice fella who could move in to save me from my loneliness."

He drew in a thoughtful breath against her hair. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

She smiled, certain. "Positive."

He was quiet for a moment. "Tell Rory to save her extra boxes," he finally said.

She turned in his arms to face him, slipping her arms around his neck. He'd never seen that look in her eyes before- a look of absolute certainty, confidence, and perfect happiness. "I love you, Luke," she said softly.

"I love you too," he smiled, and he kissed her, to the sounds of the Ramones blasting from Rory's room.


End file.
